


Hysteresis

by DisorientedOwl



Series: Serious Fics [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Self-Servicing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisorientedOwl/pseuds/DisorientedOwl
Summary: Some exploration of Cybertronian medical terms.Megatron should have died on the operating table. But for some reason, Ratchet brings him back from the edge of oblivion. Was it to torture the warlord? To catch up on old times?





	1. Chapter 1

     With how brutal the damage was, no one really recognized the bot on the table. Ratchet had to unfasten the spark chamber to fully realize and then hastily shut it, to the panic of his medical partner.

     “Scrap, Ratchet!” First Aid shouted, holding back the diodes to connect life support, “What—?”

     “Where was this mech found?”

     Ratchet couldn’t keep the tremble from his voice.

     “In a wrecked ship outside of Ca—.”

     “Leave me.”

     First Aid protested; of course, he was a good doctor, “But sir, there is no way you can handle a bot with this much damage by yourself.”

     “Get out,” Ratchet snapped.

     The fear of his temper overrode any confusion or curiosity. First Aid was young and the historical files didn’t quite match the patient’s appearance anymore. He went through so many changes after his resurrection. Ratchet was content pretending he was dead. But no matter the self-inflicted cosmetic wounds or the char of fire fight, Ratchet knew that spark anywhere.

     Once First Aid left in a huff and Ratchet assured visfeeds were off and impossible to turn back on, he re-opened the spark chamber to see the purple blue swirl of Megatron’s fading spark.

     Most of the cosmetic wounds looked self-inflicted and gave Ratchet pause as he picked up the set aside diodes for connecting the required support.

     _What are you doing?_ He asked himself, _This is the machine that mangled Cybertron and tried to destroy Earth._

     He looked as well as he did the first time he offlined from sustainable damage. The scanner protested at his hesitation. Delicate systems, like a processor, could corrupt if not made right quickly. If Ratchet was going to save him, he’d better fucking get to it.

     Ratchet quickly attached the support nodes around the spark, isolating it from any feedback. He manually opened cooling lines to alleviate any heat that would damage his internals. He quickly pulled his own line out, his medical memory not allowing him to go and find coolant elsewhere, and jettisoned an ounce of his own to make up for leaks.

     Once he was cool, what mattered was getting enough treatment to stabilize the behemoth. First thing to do was balance the energy of his spark. However, in Ratchet’s experience it was up in the air how that would work. Dark Energon was a Schrödinger’s cat of survivability; he’d either wake up a spark-eating zombie or a worn out megalomaniac.

     Ratchet wasn’t too sure which he preferred.

     Probably, the former.

     Ratchet’s servos worked quicker than ever, the wartime haste coming back to him like an old friend. With a connection that wouldn’t be the last, an EM field radiated outward- a good sign processor function was online. Whether or not it was fully functional was debatable, but he was still online.

     Cycles passed as Ratchet laboriously took the task of reattaching wires, patching tubes, and restarting individual systems alone. Megatron’s spark finally stopped flickering. Ratchet couldn’t help but settle back and look over his work with a sense of pride. A long time passed since he single-handedly brought a mech back from the brink of off-lining and since it was Megatron, Ratchet felt like he could gloat.

     Now that the haze of bringing his patient into recovery faded, Ratchet had to get this humungous bastard away from the emergency ward. It wasn’t as if he could strap Megatron to his back and lug him around.

     No, but he could strap him with the needed support unit in a scrap bag- a bag used for dead frames- and wheel him out.

     Ratchet was sure an unmarked bag would be noticed, especially an unmarked bag _he_ was pulling around. Ratchet, in his new role, never lost a patient.

      He hoped he wouldn’t regret saving this one.


	2. Chapter 2

    Megatron snapped online with a violent spark of passion to live, thrashing out of the berth sheets and tangling in his support line. After the initial static and confusion, he realized he was in the last place he’d ever thought to be: a bedroom on Cybertron.

     Once the audio static faded, he realized the soft noise he heard in the background was organic ambience. Earth sounds. For a desperate klik, Megatron thought he was saved by an old lieutenant or vehicon perhaps.

     No, the room was too nice, too pristine and organized for vehicon tastes. The berth was large- why would they have excess? This was the room of an elite.

     Megatron thought the worst- he’d become part of some odd Decepticon trafficking ring. They fixed him up only serve a master. But he wore no collar, no tracking device, and there was no resistance when he pulled off his support line. It only chirped happily. He wasn’t trapped and was given with the highest quality medical care. Not even Shockwave was this delicate with his medical setups. What confused Megatron the most was he hadn’t been form-locked to assure he wouldn’t transform out the very illegal weapon codes he still had in his hardline.

     He’d been buffed, he noticed as he felt himself out, this was not a dream’s manifestation. His hard, rough edges he'd spent so long trying to break off were sanded and artfully sculpted away. The char marks healed up nicely and aside from a few dents, Megatron looked and felt fine.

     Some bot did a very thorough job at assuring he was well.

     It was humbling and flattering. Megatron had many enemies and really no one in this universe he would call a friend. It was unfamiliar to know he was cared for. He flicked off the berth covers to prowl his surroundings.

     No way an Autobot would let him live. Megatron had his fair share of Autobots after him, Decepticons too. No matter how deep he wandered into exile there was always some bot there wanting to rip his spark from his frame. It was rare to wake up from heavy damage with anything more than an empty tank and aching spark.

     A sudden beeping made Megatron lurch back to the safety of the berthside. There was a small shuffling from another room and the alarm stopped. A voice began speaking: muffled, low and familiar.

    It couldn't be possible, not this bot and never in this universe.

    Megatron leaned against the wall, studying the room. Now that he knew who his savior was, he wasn’t sure he could face him.

     Few bots remained unchanged by the passage of time and Megatron knew him to be one. The muffled speaking stopped and Megatron cleared his intake and stepped into the adjoining room.

     Ratchet busied himself with work, a comfort after all this time. When he glimpsed Megatron looming from the corner of his optics he engaged his blades. Just like old times.

     “Primus, you scared me,” Ratchet confessed, transforming his servos and clenching them reflexively.

     “Is this a simulation?” Megatron asked.

     Ratchet ignored it, “What were you doing to close to Cybertron?”

     Megatron didn’t wish to answer so he countered, “Why did you save me?”

     “Medical Protocol,” Ratchet gruffed out, turning back to his work.

     A lie. Long ago, Ratchet himself said there was no hidden line of code that forced medics to fix patients. Knockout was living proof of that. It seemed neither of them wanted to share how they ended here together.

     “Optimus-“ Megatron began

     “Optimus,” Ratchet bristled, “Is not here. Don’t pretend as if that surprises you.”

     Megatron allowed the silence to fall between them. There was no reason why he should expect any different from this hostile host.

     After the fall of Cybertron, Megatron managed to get his servos on the medic. They came to words and he’d pointed out to the captured Ratchet that he alone did not cause its downfall. The medical officer sneered that he was the only one left alive and shared all of the blame. It was believed their rivalry began when Optimus staged the most daring rescue to retrieve his watchdog. But Ratchet disliked Megatron from the start of Orion and his relations, far beyond the flame of war.

     Megatron felt his spark waiver and clutched at his chamber. Dizzy was the least of it.

     “You jerked out your support lines?” Ratchet asked flatly. The war’s end did not blunt his optics’ keenness.

     Somehow, the medic was next to him. They didn’t touch, but his presence stabilized him.

     “Easy there,” Ratchet murmured softly, far opposed from his earlier harsh tone. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

     Megatron didn’t dare lean on him, “Am I dying?”

     Ratchet laughed, “Puh-lease, as if I’d let a patient die in my apartment.”

     “Are you going to kill me?”

     Ratchet looked genuinely surprised and turned away, his roughness returned, “I’d bet you’d like that. You should return to your berth.”

     Ratchet pulled away but waited patiently for Megatron at the side of the berth as he dragged himself back.

     “I’m going to put some fluxitive in your lines,” Ratchet informed him in a very traditionally calm doctor-y tone. “It will stabilize your field, but you’ll probably recharge a lot. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

     Megatron watched as the medical officer did his best to cover, reconnect, and busy himself over the warlord.

    “This won’t last long. By tomorrow you’ll probably stabilize on your own.”

     This was some trick by Ratchet’s servo, some means to get him to live miserably. He did his best to sound ungrateful. “Thank you, Doctor.”

     Ratchet’s concerned faceplate was the last thing he recalled to before drifting into a medicated recharge.


	3. Chapter 3

     Megatron woke slowly again as his recharge inertia dropped to the end of its cycle. This time it was a familiar place: Ratchet’s berthroom. He knew better to bolt up. Instead he languidly elevated himself and looked around.

     Ratchet sat on a chair- obviously pulled from another room- taking a recharge of his own beside the berth. He slumped over a datascreen, helm nestled in his own palm- a picture of an unintentional slumber. Megatron wondered if he was guarded or kept company.

     There were no support cables connected to his spark chamber and despite how miserable Megatron felt, his systems checked out. Ratchet did his job; he was alive despite all efforts in the contrary. But why did  _this_ Autobot save him?

     Their history wasn't pleasant.

     Megatron leaned over to the medic, easily closing the gap between them. As he outstretched his claw, Ratchet’s optics flew open and he shifted. He drew back and looked away.

     “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Ratchet spoke as usual. “Care for anything to drink?”

     “No.” Megatron felt low, but he didn’t want to admit it.

   “Very well, but you will eat something today,” Ratchet retorted.

     They sat in silence before he began again, “If I recall, you enjoyed reading so I can provide you with as much data as you’d like until we figure out how to smuggle you out of here.”

     Megatron didn’t reply as Ratchet tossed his datapad onto the berth.

     “If you’re worried, no one else knows you’re here. I can’t imagine the mass hysteria if they did. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. However, as your physician, I know you’ll need rest, refueling, and a little time so at least stay a few cycles. But while you are here do your best to stay under the radar. No renewing a revolution in my berthroom please.”

     If Megatron could believe it, Ratchet was joking. But he gave no reply and pulled the datapad closer.

     “I’ll be seeing patients in the other room today so don’t come out until I go to work. Even if it sounds like I’m in trouble or there is a scuffle, do me a favor and don’t start being a hero.”

     Megatron couldn’t lose the opportunity to know more about the planet he exiled himself from. He could stay until it was no longer beneficial. He nodded absentmindedly.

     Only after Ratchet left did Megatron fully realize what was said as a parting insult. What did the medic mean by trouble?

     The Autobot returned sometime later with energon in servo.

     “Eat this before the end of the day or I’ll raise hell when I come back from work.”

     Megatron ignored the Earthen phrase. Ratchet seemed attached to the Autobot allies and they no longer left that pit of hatred in his tanks.

     “What kind of trouble?” Megatron grumbled out.

     Ratchet frowned, “Pardon?”

     “You said ‘trouble’ what trouble are you getting into?”

     “Ah,” a smile, practiced much like his medicine, rose to the medic’s faceplate, “I accept patients here that hospitals might turn away. A great deal of them are unruly.”

     Megatron clutched the datapad, “I won’t trouble you then.”

     He expected the words to soothe the medic but he was given that worried look he remembered. But if Ratchet had concerns he did not voice them as he left.

     Megatron wanted to revive the burning hatred for the Autobot medic, he truly did. To find some deception or treachery in his actions. Perhaps he was just too weary to feel something so vivid.

     It wasn’t as if he didn’t remember why their rivalry extended well beyond the reach of the war. Megatron made it clear it was personal when he put a bounty on the medic’s helm so high Optimus hid him away, further seating the medic in a dark place in Megatron’s spark.

      Ratchet felt the same. He did his fair share of insulting Megatron’s pride at every chance. Their feelings were mutually hot, but Ratchet’s last encounter with him was more of a weary hatred, one the ex-con couldn’t imagine abated.

     Which brought back to the present: why did this Autobot save him?

      That question wouldn’t be answered, especially since the mech in question left.

     Megatron opened the datascreen. Ratchet already queued up a few documents. It was obvious that is what he was doing before he fell into recharge as a menu was left open. Megatron vented out softly, they were catered to his tastes. He clacked his claws against the screen, opening the first file.

     Although he read the words, his attention remained divided. If Optimus was here he would demand Megatron’s harmony with the Autobot. There was no recent reason to do anything vile to Ratchet, outside of his usual grumpy demeanor.

     Megatron squinted at the file. It was difficult to concentrate. He glanced at the energon before succumbing to his need for refuel.

     It felt refreshing as it slid down his throat. Cooling and fresh: the best that Megatron had the privilege of enjoying in quite some time. He was glad for his solitude as he greedily drank. Once the energon fueled his systems his processor recalled Ratchet’s reluctance to touch him and his engaging of blades.

     Knockout once commented Ratchet’s medical method was far too “hands-on” for his tastes. Knockout had vanity and sterility all down to a simple science unless the bot in questions met his standards. Ratchet showed a personal touch with all of his patients but seemed the polar opposite with him. Despite his careful medical treatment, Megatron realized he shouldn’t take his rescue personally.

     For the first time, the document in front of him distracted him from his Ratchet problems. It was a passage from the new council constitution. It read almost glyph for glyph identical to an addendum he proposed in pre-war Cybertron.

     Megatron restarted the document, poring through and finding his language interwoven there.

     A loud noise outside the berthroom dragged his attention from research. It annoyed him at first, the loud noise and low arguing. Apparently Ratchet did get unruly patients.

      Although he entertained the thought of if the Autobot was in trouble, he was too invested in the words to care. There was little he could do given the circumstances anyways.

      Megatron pulled up the next file.

     Ratchet found him hours later, transfixed by data. When he broke the warlord’s concentration it looked as if he was resurfacing into the world.

      “I’m going to work now,” the medic didn’t hide the concern in his tone, “Don’t answer the door. Recharge. If any police unit finds you here they’ll call me so don’t be loud or rash.” 

     The Autobot lingered, as if he wanted to say more, fretting as he did over a familiar patient. But ultimately he scurried out the door and the warlord was alone with nothing but the dwelling thought perhaps he was wrong to think Ratchet was not invested in his care.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron takes a bath.

Megatron woke with a start from a clatter outside the inner door. He’d nodded off sometime during the night while exploring the archives of New Cybertron.

     At first, he was alarmed: perhaps it was an intruder here to kill him. Then he heard the familiar cursing of the Autobot medic and relaxed.

    He flung off the berthsheets, realizing he detested being so placid. When he stepped out of the room he paused in the doorway. Ratchet picked supplies up off the floor, bracing himself with one servo and putting each object on the counter. Megatron stayed quiet while he observed with tilted helm as the medic collected his things.

     When Ratchet finally turned he gave a yelp and engaged his blades. Megatron waited patiently for him to compose himself before speaking, “Where were you?”

     He didn’t mean to sound harsh and demanding.

     “Work,” Ratchet folded his servos, an optic ridge raising as his hip swiveled. It was a challenge.

     They stood in dead silence for a klik.

     “Have you had energon?” Ratchet continued, sheathing his medical blades.

     “No,” Megatron leaned against the doorway. He slept and read but he wasn’t about to admit that was everything.

     Ratchet vented out a sigh, “I guess not. I’ll get you some.”

     Now Megatron had all his wits about him, he scanned the luxurious flat. Large windows gave view to the hustle and bustle of Cybertron at the end of a spacious living room. Or what should have been a spacious living room. There was no vidscreen or data console. The large room looked more like a cozy hospital with a couch and a medical berth. Marbled floors led to the kitchen, tucked in next to the front door.

     “Nice place,” Megatron sounded bitter.

     “It’s too big,” Ratchet gathered an energon cube from a compartment, “And they got far too fancy with it all. Refrigerated energon? Give me a break.”

     So that’s why this energon felt so heavenly. The medic set the energon cube at the very end of a nicely made kitchen peninsula then retreated to the far corner of the kitchenette.

     “Have I been in recharge long?” There were no windows in the berthroom, but here Megatron could tell it was early morning. Perhaps days passed.

     “No, probably not. I’ve just been at work all night.” Ratchet was doing his best to look busy, but he’d obviously cornered himself in the kitchen. “The size of the place helps me see patients and they can sleep here if they need to.”

     Megatron nodded, glanced at the living room, and sipped his energon, “Do you have many patients?”

     “Yes, the first ones will be here in an hour or so. You’ll have to stay in the berthroom. I trust my patients but only a few have the decency not to run to the nearest police station and report you.”

     Ratchet stepped forward and looked him up and down, “I can see you’re eager to move around but don’t overdo it. I’ll have to scan you sometime today.”

     “You’re welcome to do it now, doctor,” Megatron placed his half-finished energon on the counter and spread apart his servos, welcoming the medic to come closer.

     Ratchet recognized the trap, “No, after my day patients. If I find anything wrong I wouldn’t be able to fix it. Drink your energon and go back inside.”

     Megatron wondered what would happen if he refused. What would Ratchet do if his precious patient left him?

     That would be senseless. Megatron would be torn apart before he enetered Cybertron’s stratosphere. It was amazing his codes hadn’t alerted every scanner in a mile radius. He would stay, observe and discern a way to leave covertly. He would exploit every last bit of this strange kindness.

     He finished his energon and retired to the berthroom. This time he wouldn’t let himself get fascinated with Cybertron's rules. The cities and infrastructure was founded on existing systems. Megatron would research building plans, roads oil and water lines. He could find a way out on his own.

     Ratchet was too fussy. Optimus’ lapdog needed to be taught manners long ago. Megatron wasn’t some weak Autobot or some rusty old medical unit. There was nothing wrong with him that wasn't fixed.

     He didn’t realize he began pacing across the room. Megatron stopped himself and began exploring instead, checking under the berth, looking in drawers. It seemed Ratchet didn’t have many personal effects besides the music player on the side table. Which had nothing but Earth sounds on it. How like an Autobot to get nostalgic for a rusty old mud ball. There was another door besides the one that led into the main room.

     Megatron stalked over and angrily pressed the open key.

     A lavish washroom complete with a sizable bath and standalone shower. It seemed Ratchet returned to his lofty perch, as if the war didn’t even happen for him. Megatron was a gladiator in a different sort of light. How ironic.

     Then again, the luxurious style tub looked unused. There was dust forming on the jets. His patients probably used it more. What a waste.

     Ratchet gave ‘bots his luxuries from the very beginning. If you weren’t a raging jerk you could visit the medic in his penthouse in the finest part of Iacon as Cybertron’s Dionysius.

     That made Megatron pause. Was Ratchet as easy to accept pleasure as payment in his makeshift hospital apartment? Orion’s pretty faceplate was no longer a deterrent for the medic now, right?

     Megatron recognized the bitterness rising inside him like a purge.

     Once, Megatron wished to separate Optimus from his medic. To watch the Prime squirm as he chose between his beloved friend and his cause. Forcing Ratchet to work earnestly for him was a clever revenge. It may have led to his downfall.

     But it was not Optimus without his medic but Ratchet without his Prime. He was miserable enough to where no simple luxury could ease his pain.

     Well, if the medic wasn’t going to use it, Megatron would. It would have to be cleaned but damned if he hadn’t resolved to exploit every luxury.

     Megatron soaked until the temperature dropped to ice and then soaked again. His joints felt amazing and the second round he dumped some random soak into the mix.

     It was heaven. The medic didn’t know what he was missing. Megatron lifted his pede up, watching the viscous fluids run off it. He dropped it instinctively when he heard the berthroom door hiss open.

     “Megatron,” came a muffled call.

     “In here.”

     Ratchet opened the door and looked regretful. His confusion turned into a glare, “Making yourself comfortable?”

     “Perfectly so,” Megatron gave a toothy grin.

     Ratchet folded his servos, “We have some time before my next patients arrive.”

     A pause.

     “I was just thinking I could give you a scan but you’re busy.”

     “Extremely," Megatron lifted his ped again.

     Ratchet shook his helm and waved a servo, “Don’t rust in there, it’ll be a pain to clean up.”

     Megatron felt impish at being so pleased with Ratchet’s irritation. There was a shortage of cheap thrills without a constant threat against his life. He finally ended his luxurious rebellion and returned to the berthroom. After working out his joints and doing everything short of transforming, he returned to reading. It was close to dark and Megatron wondered if Ratchet slept out on the couch.

     Yet, he said there would be patients arriving. How many patients did he see? Judging from the noise one showed up every two hours or so. Then, Ratchet would go to work at the end of the day. But he wasn't at work today and stated more patients would be coming.

     Megatron dozed off only to be woken by the noise of another patient every few cycles or so. So the medic worked through the night at home. Finally, Ratchet woke him after a long stretch of recharge. From the light streaming in from behind, it looked to be early morning.

     “I’m sorry to disturb you but I wanted to do the scan before I went into work.”

     Megatron obliged the doctor by sitting up on the berth, waiting sleepily for Ratchet to complete his scan.

     “Did you see patients all night?”

     “Of course,” Ratchet sounded hoarse and strained, “Nights are my busiest times because of the cover it allows my more paranoid guests.”

     Megatron said nothing and waited for the medic to give him a proper diagnosis.

     “Okay, well you seem fine. You can move around the apartment. I want you to try transforming but if there is no room don’t strain yourself moving the furniture. Please try and have one full cube of energon before I get back. Your frame would allow more for two but I don’t expect miracles from you.”

     “Yes, Ratchet.”

     The use of his name brought shivers to the medical officer, “Don’t be a pain. I’m heading to work.”

     Megatron listened as the medic stomped through the loft and the noise of the outer door closing and locking.

     He was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

     He was gone too long.

     He couldn't be at work. Megatron explicitly reminded himself, per his readings, labor services demanded half-shifts to prevent burnout of certain functions including miners and medical units.

      Megatron didn’t stop his pacing this time. He was far too nervous. What if they were torturing Ratchet, trying to get information from him? How he made it from the outer reaches of the system to the glory of Cybertron itself? Someone must know he was here besides Ratchet. The damned medic should just tell them whatever they needed to know. Megatron didn’t deserve to be cared for or protected. Ratchet knew that best of anyone!

      It was only hours, but it seemed like days passed leaving Megatron prone to fancy. This was still Cybertron after all. Perhaps they were taking the medic apart piece by piece. The warlord could practically hear the screams of agony from the medic.

      Each noise at the door made him jump and check for some news, some indication Ratchet was well.

      The medic would get it when he returned. Megatron would make him talk about where he’d been, even if it meant forcing out an answer. If that scrapped up piece of junk was whole and unharmed the ex-Con was going to make him wish he was offline. How dare he make him worry like this?

_Worry?_

      Megatron’s sudden questioning of his emotional state was interrupted by a click of the front door latch unlocking, but the door didn’t open.

     Curious, the warlord stalked to the door, only to see two frames waiting there on the visport.

      Quickly, Megatron turned. He couldn’t make it to the berthroom. Instead he attempted to squeeze into the small wheel closet by the door. He closed the door just barely when the outer door hissed open and the remains of a conversation echoed.

      “-absolute moron can’t tell between an energon line and an exhaust port,” came the unfamiliar whiny voice.

     “Well, not everyone was forged a medic,” Ratchet sounded detached from the conversation, obviously concerned about the presence of his guest.

     “Yes, well. He needs to learn quicker, we have memory chips for a reason.”

     Ratchet gave a noncommittal noise before Megatron heard the hiss of the outer door closing. Whoever the whiny bot was, he was intent on staying.

     “Oh,” came Ratchet’s voice, “Did you want to stay and have something to drink?”

     From Ratchet’s tone it sounded like that was the opposite of what Ratchet wanted. Megatron leaned in and listened against the closed door of the wheel closet.

     “I could afford one before I go.”

      “Of course.”

      Megatron listened to the flurry of noise indicating that Ratchet was doing his best to get the drinks and get the intruder out.

    “They say they might incentivize sparklings or even start cold-constructing bots again,” the other Autobot sounded too close. Megatron pulled back, hoping that the jammer on his em field was still working. From what he could gather, the strange bot was probably looking around Ratchet's apartment.

     “Yes, I heard. The Council wants a population boom I presume,” From Ratchet’s tone it seemed like he was distracted. Probably trying to figure out how to explain the Decepticon in his closet.

     The stranger laughed, “Yes. But I think it would be good to have some medical builds.”

 _Primus_ , Megatron could have dropped to his pedes. Whoever this was decided to come on strong. He was flirting with the damn medic.

     “Yes,” was Ratchet always this oblivious, “I would enjoy the help.”

      “I think two intelligent medical units; one with the breadth and knowledge of eons of medical innovation and another with the youth and capability of carrying, could partake in that sort of ritual.”

      “I really couldn’t say Medicon has _eons_ of medical innovation,” Ratchet snorted.

     Megatron winced, he was out of the game. He almost felt sorry for the other bot. Then again, this stranger is why he was stuck in the closet. He really wasn’t sure he would stay there for the duration of that kind of encounter.

     “I was talking about you,” the voice was further away, the youngster was spelling it out for him. Megatron admired his boldness, “I was talking about us.”

     “Ah.”

      There was a pause as Ratchet presumably mentally kicked himself in the aft.

      The young stranger broke the silence, “I’ve heard the rumors about you losing that patient.”

     The ex-Con knew that was a mistake, if Ratchet lost a patient it would push out any thought of interfacing or sparking. Strike three against the young bot. Shame, he was really rooting for him.

      “You don’t have to overwork yourself to make up for it. As a team, you and I could do wonderful things for Cybertron. I know you miss the Prime but you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.” The stranger murmured as if it was berthtalk.

     Megatron cracked the closet door open with his claws, digging into the seam to peep. The youngster cornered Ratchet, servo in hand practically pressing him against the door of the refrigeration unit. The movement rewarded him with a glare from the irate medic and he ducked back in the closet.

     “First Aid, I understand your sense of duty to Cybertron. But now is not the time to discuss this sort of thing.”

     First Aid sounded crestfallen. He hid his pain behind mature words, “I understand, another time then, Ratchet?”

     “Of course.”

     Megatron knew it was a no. This whelp would have a hard time finding Ratchet alone for a few millennia.

     They dispensed pleasantries for a few agonizing minutes, but the mood was gone. The young bot took the hint and they exchanged goodbyes shortly after.

     Finally, Ratchet opened the closet door and Megatron stared down at the fuming medic.

     “Far be it for me to judge, but I don’t understand why you compromised yourself for a glimpse into my personal life.”

     He was angry but for which reason Megatron could only hazard a guess. But there was something else bugging Megatron.

     “It’s been a long while since you lost a patient, Ratchet.”

     Ratchet turned on his wheelbed, “It was you, you half baked…”

     Megatron waited as the string of expletives meandered as Ratchet cleaned up. Once he heard the final half muttered ‘glitch’ he continued, “So, is that a friend from work?”

     “No, he is an understudy. He’ll take over for me as head of hospital training,” Ratchet huffed, “He’s ambitious and uses the drivel the Council spews as a mask for his own desires. _Don’t._ ” Ratchet turned on his heel again, pointing a single digit to Megatron, “ _Don’t_ think for one moment you can tease me with this. We are not friends.”

     Megatron faked being wounded.

    “ _Don’t_ ,” Came the warning tone again, “I _will_ undo the damaged I fixed if you utter another word.”

     “Ah,” Megatron leaned against the kitchen peninsula, “So you finally hold it above me. Finally getting what you desire from the broken Decepticon warlord.”

     It crossed some unseen line. He was teasing but Ratchet looked hurt, his professional pride wounded, “That isn’t…”

     It was an odd raw moment from the medic and Megatron already wanted to take it back. To retrieve the anger from just kliks before. Although, the thought did cross his mind that the medic wanted something for his care, his pained expression quelled any rebellion that the act wasn’t some glitch in his systems.

      “Ratchet.”

      “Don’t,” Ratchet turned away, hiding his optics. But Megatron wasn’t dumb. He couldn’t mistake the slumping shoulder plates or the way his helm leaned against the refrigerator door.

      There had to be something Megatron could do.

      “I miss Optimus as well,” Megatron stated, “I know it’s my fault he’s gone and I’m sorry for it. I was blind.”

      “You’ve already apologized,” Ratchet spoke mostly to the appliance in front of him, “I have to get supplies before my next patient arrives.”

      Megatron didn’t want to be alone but it was unthinkable to reach out for that servo. To pull the Autobot back and tell him as much. To tell him the reason for his proximity to Cybertron was the possibility of rejoining the Prime in the Allspark was unthinkable. This was the last being in the universe he could confess that kind of selfishness to.

      “What if your patient arrives before you return?”

      Ratchet opened the door, “Stay hidden, please. I don’t know what to do with you here.”

      Megatron watched as the door separated them.

      In his exile, Megatron thought a lot about his past. He thought about war and those who joined him on the side of Decepticon fury. Those who were berated, called scum, and hated for the beliefs Megatron instilled. In hindsight, his descent into tyranny was almost immediate, once he had the power he sought, he reveled in it and he turned his most trusted lieutenants, strategists, scientists, and intelligent Decepticons into nothing but tools for his reign. He didn’t recognize the decay of the planet under his watch or his ranks growing with those who only wanted to be on the winning team. This is why so many wanted him offline. This is why he should be offline.

     Having Ratchet save him out of kindness was humbling, and Megatron did not like being humbled. He wanted the medic’s morals impure for that reason. If Ratchet saved him for glory or some dark purpose, it would remind him that the scars of war didn’t plague only the warlord.

     If he burnt or scarred himself, he would only be gently repaired by the medic. As much as he wanted to feel those servos on him he didn't know how it would affect the medic. So, he resigned himself to the berthroom, to wait until Ratchet allowed him to leave.

     Megatron was pensive. He didn’t recharge, instead he lay on the floor, listening to muffle tones of the apartment around him. His processor turning to that familiar dull static when he thought about what brought him to this place. Part of him wanted to leave, to return to the inevitable whispers of war that followed him. Fighting was safe. He’d been fighting since he was forged. Fighting for his survival and his spark. It seemed Ratchet wasn’t the only one returning to the way things were.

      A loud clatter broke the warlord’s attention. He almost waved it off but he heard a worried, unfamiliar voice shout out the medic’s name.

      Ratchet told him not to expose himself, which was the only warning that held Megatron at the door.

      “I’ll take you to your berth,” came a low offer.

      “No,” Ratchet, despite whatever happened, wouldn't expose him, “I’ll just sit a moment in here.”

     Something happened, that surge of worry fluttered at the edges of Megatron’s processor. He cursed the presence of the patient. The voices outside the door turned into noise until finally, in relief, the outer door opened and closed.

      “Megatron.”

      He was surprised to hear Ratchet call for him. He opened the inner door and saw him sitting on the couch.

     “I’m sorry to trouble a patient, but I might need some help preparing for the next one.”

      Megatron frowned, “Next patient.”

      “Yes, please.”

     “What happened?”

     Ratchet avoided his optics, “Nothing a little sit won’t help.”

     Megatron accessed his memory, recalling words from another about the medic, “You haven’t been recharging.”

     He did the math in his helm, how long had Ratchet had actual recharge? Last time Megatron saw the medic resting it had looked like an accident.

     Megatron loomed over the medic, more firm this time, “You haven’t be recharging.”

     “Of course not,” Ratchet snapped, “There hasn’t been time. I’ve made it up in fuel.”

     “Your systems burn double for every cycle you don’t have at least four hours of recharge,” Megatron sneered, “ _Your_ recommendation, medic. What kind of fool doctor can’t even take care of himself?”

      Ratchet shook, an obvious engine heave.

      “And you’re still going to see the next patient aren’t you?”

      “Who else will?” Ratchet returned, maintaining his attitude even while exhausted.

      “You are too foolish to be admirable,” Megatron bit out.

      “I know.”

      Megatron angrily stormed to the refrigerated energon storage, he stalked back to the medic and slammed down the fuel. He didn’t know why he was angry.

     “I’m sorry.”

     Megatron growled out, “What’s that, Autobot?”

     Ratchet looked angrily up at him, “I was apologizing-“

     Megatron curled up his mouth, baring his teeth, “You don’t even know what for. You’re apologizing because you think it will _fix_ something. What do I care, fix them until you die and they move on to the next medical unit willing to throw away their life _for nothing_. How many patients will you lose if you exhaust yourself so much you become obsolete?”

      Megatron stormed away, back to his infuriating prison of Ratchet’s berthroom.

      He was becoming more and more indignant about that glitch fixing him. In the morning, there was a knock but the medic didn't enter only gave a call for energon and informing he would be away until the end of the day. Whether or not Megatron would be there still, would be up to him.

When the loft finally quieted in the faint beginnings of the morning, Megatron fell into a fitful rest. 


	6. Chapter 6

     Megatron cooled off by the time Ratchet at last dragged himself through the front door. Megatron sat on the couch, combing through more recent news. The medic was surprised to see him, but quickly covered it up. Megatron noted the Autobot wobbled as he put his supplies away.

     “I could rest more,” Ratchet admitted from the kitchen.

     Megatron raised an optic ridge and met Ratchet’s pure blue optics staring at him. He set down the datapad.

     “I should get some rest tonight.”

     Megatron didn’t like  _should_ and he narrowed his optics. Ratchet looked nervous as he said, “I brought home some energon and a few things for a patient.”

     The flier stood up, stretching out and catching Ratchet’s wobbling flinch out of the corner of his optics. The wobble pushed him away from his support and the medic crashed to the floor.

     Megatron vented, there were a few things he wanted to say, but knew he shouldn’t. Instead he slowly walked to the counter. “Ratchet.”

     His systems were starting to heat up which explained the need for pre-cooled energon. How many times had he run himself to the point of exhaustion, “Uh huh?”

     He was panting for cool air.

     Megatron looked down on him with bemused red optics, “Enjoying yourself down there?”

     Ratchet flicked his optics to him, “Immensely.”

     He leaned against the counter, making a noise of agreement and nodding.

     “Can I have some help up?”

     Megatron raised his optic ridges, “Really?”

     “Of course _really_. Unless you get some sick thrills from me sitting on my aft.”

     He rounded the peninsula, “You usually engage your surgical tools when I get close.”

     Ratchet vented loudly from his exhausted systems, “With good reason.”

     At least he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Megatron hadn’t exactly been kind during the war but he’d been respectful.

     Or so he thought.

     Ratchet flinched as claws closed around his forearms and Megatron heaved him up. As soon as the medic steadied, Megatron made a show of releasing him, as if he abhorred the touch.

     It was a mistake. Ratchet toppled forward as soon as he took a step. Megatron fought the impulse to grab his helm and drag him to the berth himself.

     “Maybe I should get some energon first,” Ratchet told him from the floor.

     Megatron rolled his optics and stepped over the mess of a machine and pulled a cube from his refrigerated storage to hand off to the medic. He leaned against the counter and vented.

     “I’m sorry,” Ratchet told the floor, but Megatron could hear.

     “Why are you apologizing?”

     “I’m usually alone when this happens,” Ratchet admitted, “I’m not used to having a long-time patient. They usually just stay a day or so.”

     “So, what was your plan, Autobot,” Megatron extended a claw, steering the conversation down a typically selfish path, “When you found me?”

     “I didn’t find you,” Ratchet took a sip, “I didn’t even recognize you until I opened your spark chamber. I panicked and knew you had to get into my apartment and fixed.”

     Ratchet trailed off leaning his helm back.

     “How kind of you to think me unsuited for death.”

     “I thought about it,” Ratchet whispered, “I hesitated for one moment. But given the state you were in I knew that if Optimus were there, he’d want me to stabilize you.”

     It wasn’t all too selfless, then, knowing this particular fool. Autobots were always bound by some foolish invisible honor.

     “I don’t know.”

     Megatron knew the medic was babbling at this point, “Don’t recharge here.”

     He stepped over the medic and turned to face him. Ratchet’s optics were doe-like as he looked up at the warbuild, “I don’t know.”

     Megatron didn’t want to know what Ratchet didn’t know but he didn’t like how laser focused he was despite his hazy state.

     He reached for the energon cube and Ratchet pulled away, “No, I’ll finish it.”

     “Hurry up.”

     “Don’t _rush_ me, Megatron,” there was something to be admired about Ratchet’s ability to be difficult in the face of a murderer.

     Megatron threw up his servos and leaned against the wall, watching the outside world rush by behind the reflection of light in the window. Cybertron was coming into itself. Megatron felt a tinge of longing, to be out there among the crowded streets and the reflection of energon pools on the silicon siding.

     There was a clunk that drew his attention back to Ratchet. The medic finished his meal as promised and let the empty cube fall to the side as he attempted to stand.

     Megatron lurched forward to help but Ratchet clucked at him, “I can do it myself.”

     “Am I to suffer through your stumblings?”

     “I suffered through your war,” Ratchet gave him a dead-optic stare.

     Megatron rolled his optics and gave a cross noise. Ratchet made his way to the closet door and opened it. The former gladiator dug a claw into the medic’s shoulder and dragged him back. With a swift swipe, he keyed the door closed. He expected to see a faceplate full of fear but Ratchet seemed rather unperturbed by the digging claws. With no other options, he dragged the medic behind him to the correct door.

     “I won’t be able to sleep with you in here.”

     Megatron bared his teeth again, “Nothing to worry about. I will be in the other room.”

     “That’s not what I mean.”

     Megatron thought he caught the meaning, “I’ll lock the door.”

     Ratchet shook his helm, “Nope.”

     Megatron appreciated the honesty but he was starting to get concerned. Ratchet seemed more drunk than exhausted. He grasped the medic’s chin, lifting with the edge of his thumb and forefinger.

     There was a massive difference between their size. Ratchet was the same height of his second in command, just a little heftier. He could almost be lifted in one servo.

     His optics weren’t unfocused in that tell-tale sign of drunkenness.

     “I tried to kill it you know,” the medic returned to his rambling.

     Megatron vented and lolled his helm back, “What did you kill?”

     “I _tried_ to kill it. For years I tried to get rid of that tiny bit of optimism that managed to survive in me, through the war,” Ratchet rested his helm on Megatron’s grip. “But after all this, it’s the only part of me that’s managed to survive.”

     Megatron pulled his servo away and watched as Ratchet wobbled to the berth. He flopped down and then patted beside him.

      The warbuild vented; it wasn’t something he wanted to do but he gingerly sat at the edge of the berth.

     “You’re supposed to talk next,” Ratchet stated once he sat.

     “What am I to say,” Megatron growled out, “I am indebted to you.”

     “Yeah, I bet you hate that,” Ratchet leaned forward and Megatron was so worried he’d topple off the berth he slammed a claw into his helm and pushed back.

     Once the medic _whumped_ to the berth, Megatron did his best to keep his temper but couldn’t help but growl out, “You’re starting to irk me.”

     “Starting,” Ratchet made a noise, “Millions of years and I’m only just starting.”

     “Why don’t you find somewhere else to recharge then?”

     “Because I’ll be worried all night about you.”

     Megatron furrowed his ridges and finally looked over his spiked shoulderplating at the medic.

     “I saw the wounds, Megatron,” Ratchet locked optics, “I’m a medical unit. You think I didn’t see that sort of thing before the war? Gladiators purposefully throwing fights and getting into places they shouldn’t. Orion told me all about it and it kept me up then as it does now. I’d throw parties as a cover to sneak into Kaon.”

     “I know, that’s how we met.”

     Ratchet looked up at the ceiling, “I still don’t like you.”

     Megatron rolled his optics, “That feeling isn’t without company.”

     There was a moment of silence that Megatron dared to hope the medic succumbed to his recharge cycle.

     “Will you tell me why you were so close to Cybertron?”

     Megatron turned away, “No.”

     “Rude,” Ratchet shifted in the berth, making it creak.

     Megatron vented and leaned back, finding a place in the berth beside the medic. He fit awkwardly beside him but surprisingly enough Ratchet gave no protest. Rather, the medic turned on his side to make room for the hulking mass.

     “I need to know where your behaviors come from if you’re going to heal,” Ratchet told him, sounding as professional as a recharge deprived mech could.

    “I don’t want to heal,” Megatron pointed out.

     “Why not?”

     Megatron turned his helm to the delirious medic, “There is no reason to heal.”

     With Megatron’s pedes dangling over the edge, they were optic to optic on the berth. It brought back a sense of déjà vu and comfort he wasn’t too sure he wanted. “How did Optimus ever get you to rest?”

     Ratchet laughed, a low tone that came from some unlocked place under his chest plating, “Lots of nice ways. I always knew he wanted me to recharge when he’d touch my helm.”

      Megatron convinced himself if there was any way to make this troublesome rustbucket to berth, he’d do it. So, he extended his servo with digits outstretched, knowing Ratchet would pull away.

     Instead, the medic rested his chevron in his palm, venting out a soft sigh and closing his optics. When Megatron thumbed the edge of his audial fin the medic’s optics fluttered back online.

     “This is frightening, but nice.”

     Megatron made a noncommittal noise.

     “You’re allowed to miss Optimus,” Ratchet stated, “It’s allowed. I’m not going to get mad at you for saying that. I miss him too. And I saved you because of that.”

     “I know,” Megatron patted his helm and said nothing further.

     Since it was the only thing that seemed to calm the medic he continued to touch, turning the sharp ends of his claws away to knuckle the medic’s chevron. Trailing them occasionally to his audial fins to rub between his digits, making sure paint didn’t flake away.

     This was Optimus’ medic. The medic that had to be protected from the grasp of Decepticon fighters. Never did he imagine the old war hardy bot falling into recharge with his gentle touches. He imagined Optimus flying away with him in his servos into the sunset after Megatron exiled himself from Cybertron. But Optimus sacrificed himself to save Megatron and their planet.

     It was stupid to think Ratchet could forgive him. Once he was sure that the medic wouldn’t wake, Megatron left him to his berth to return to the datapad and the couch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet tries to confront Megatron.
> 
> EDIT: So I updated this chapter with 650 more words. Please read them.

     Ratchet woke from his recharge as usual with a power saving recap pinging his neural net and a growing need for more energon. His systems retained a warmth as well, but nothing outside the ordinary. He probably forgot to turn on the central cooling again.

     Yet, there was a more uncomfortable situation pressing him to wake up quickly, something tickled him, right at the small of his backstruts and it was uncomfortable. Ratchet stretched before his optics finally flickered online.

     His cabling tensed. He couldn’t help it. Millions of years of habit couldn’t be fixed in a few days.

     Megatron had one servo tucked underneath his helm and a pillow, cradling the medic in the crook of it. The other was flung over him, the clawtips brushing gently on the sensitive part of his plating between his aft and his medical storage.

     He unintentionally moved forward, away from the servo, as if arching his back would do anything but draw him closer to the warlord.

     Ratchet finally accessed the powersave file from the night before. It was common in a medic’s systems to switch off memory function to preserve power. It just meant recall was temporarily postponed and backed up to review once his systems got enough rest and energon to make room for high-energy medical function. There wasn’t anything too noteworthy until his confession that he couldn’t sleep with Megatron in the room. It went downhill from there.

     Ratchet always hated how honest he got when his functions slowly ticked off one by one, but it seemed Megatron was far more honest. He surfaced from the simulation feeling no better than when he went in.

     So Megatron did want to die. Ratchet had mixed feelings about that. He wanted to rage, to wake up the slumbering monster and holler at him until he spoke his mind. How  _dare_  he when Optimus was willing to sacrifice himself for  _him._

     But that was selfish thinking. Ratchet fidgeted, drawing closer to the warm spark of the warlord. There were countless times Optimus sacrificed his own personal safety and life for the spark of others. Megatron wasn’t special yet he was to Optimus. Ratchet knew that the two of them shared a place in the late Prime’s spark. Ratchet was coddled, people wanted him to live on. Megatron didn’t have that luxury.

     The monstrous figure tightened his grasp, pulling Ratchet into a vice-like grip that by any other servo would be a hug. Ratchet braced his servos against the broad expanse of the Decepticon’s chest, just in case he would need to push away.

     But it was just that, a tightening embrace and rebooting of a slumbering beast.

     “How long have you been awake?” This close to Megatron’s chest, he could hear the words rumble and reverberate through him. It brought back a familiar feeling.

     “Not that long,” Ratchet spoke before setting his faceplate into a neutral way and looking up at Megatron. As if he was unaffected by it all.

     Megatron’s harsh red gaze looked down on him. Knowing the events of last night, Ratchet would almost call it critical. Anything less and it wouldn’t be Megatron. “Are you aware of the events of last night?”

     “Yes,” Ratchet felt he did enough apologizing the night before until the end of time so he left it at that.

     “Hmph,” Megatron’s optics narrowed coldly, “I highly doubt it. Do you recall marching into your living room and throwing a fit when I wouldn’t let you walk out the window, which you insisted was a door.”

     Ratchet’s optics widened and this time he did push up to see his grey companion’s faceplate clearly, “What?”

     “You called me a sorry excuse for an Autobot.”

     “Well, that’s true,” Ratchet settled back into a more comfortable position.

_Comfortable?_

     Ratchet turned his servos to push against Megatron, “I need energon.”

     Megatron let up him easily enough and Ratchet swallowed the strange emotion that bubbled up. “Do you want any?”

     He didn’t need an answer so he didn’t listen for one. Would it be better to discuss it or just leave it alone? Ratchet played back the words Megatron so carelessly let fall last night as he walked to the refrigeration unit and opened it.

     Megatron didn’t choose to be revived after the end of the war, merely told the devil yes. Ratchet mused as he looked at the neatly stacked energon cubes in his fridge, if it meant reviving Optimus how far would he go? It would be just as selfish as Megatron’s resurrection, if not even more so. But Megatron still didn’t tell him why he was so close to Cybertron.

 _How am I going to get him out of here?_  The sad revelation continued. He couldn’t keep Megatron here forever, how long would it take before they drove each other mad? Ratchet’s self-assurance that he did it for Optimus would only last so long. Optimus would want him alive, yes, but Ratchet secretly hoped that Megatron could call some old lieutenant and skip out of town leaving him alone again.

     A claw startled Ratchet and he stumbled back into Megatron’s peds. The warbuild reached over top of Ratchet and pulled out two cubes before closing his other claw over Ratchet’s on the door.

     “Energy is not meant to be wasted, Ratchet,” Megatron’s voice rumbled out next to his audial fin.

     “True, you’ve wasted plenty for the lot of us,” Ratchet knew his snappy comebacks were a progression of fear, but it didn’t help that deep down he enjoyed it. It was petty, yes, but Megatron was used to rolling words right off his backstruts.

     Megatron shrugged and released his servo, “Why waste more?”

     He handed over the second cube before returning to his perch on the couch. Ratchet did have to note that Megatron moved visibly slower from old times. Once, he would have described the warbuild’s frame as unnaturally agile. He stalked through the battlefield and vaulted over obstacles like a voracious predacon consuming everything in his path. Now, Megatron lumbered around like an old spark.

     “Are you feeling alright?” The words popped out of Ratchet mouth unintentionally, “Do you feel any pain?”

     “No,” Megatron didn’t meet his optics, coldly blinking away the concern.

     Ratchet took a sip from his energon to fill the silence. His systems demanded more but he didn’t want to look as energy deprived as Megatron knew him to be.

     “You walk differently.”

     Megatron vented out a sigh but didn’t respond.

     “I’m just concerned,” Ratchet didn’t hide the irritation burning the edge of his tone. He walked away from the shield of his kitchen island, taking his energon with him.

     “There is no need to be.”

     Ratchet took a heartier gulp from his cube before turning to set it on the opposite end of the counter, “Yes there is, Megatron. You confessed to me you wanted to end yourself.”

     Megatron looked unaffected.

     “What am I supposed to do? Kidnap a psychiatrist and have them see you?”

     Megatron raised up and Ratchet defiantly stood his ground, determined not to raise his servos engaged in weaponry.

     “You need to be more worried about yourself,” he leaned down and threatened.

     Ratchet didn’t mean to stand on tiptoes and match the warlord. He didn’t mean to snap out, “You’ve taken away everything I worried about.”

     Without warning, Megatron lifted Ratchet and threw him onto the couch.

     Ratchet scrambled at the servo akin to a pylon which now clawed his chestplating. His kicking peds were easily pinned by the warlord’s own, his own couch now serving as his prison.

     Megatron drew away one of the medic’s servos with an easy strength and calm, “You can fight me because I am not a patient.”

     Ratchet railed against the claw scraping at his wrist, focusing entirely on that. He hadn’t meant to rile Megatron up to the point where he would be taught a lesson. The medic knew better than this; it was like kicking a scraplet nest.

     “Did you hear me?”

     Ratchet snapped his helm to look up at Megatron who gingerly sat down on him, further stapling him to the soft cushions. Megatron looked cold, his red optics looking down on him and his brows furrowed with resentment.

     “Yes,” the Autobot stated breathily.

     “Would you be able to fight me if I was a patient?” Megatron looked down at him with such burning anger that Ratchet froze, “Answer me.”

     “Yes.”

     “What kind of a fool do you think I am,” Megatron sneered, and Ratchet felt clawtips scrape against his doorframe. “I know what happened between you and Starscream. You should have let him bleed. Instead, he returned to me, miraculously patched after another one of our _indifferences_.”

     Ratchet vented out, practically shouting now, “I fixed Starscream for the benefit of information. What intelligence he had was wasted on you.”

     “You never struck him,” Megatron shot back, “You worried about him and he never once felt grateful for your treatment. Optimus wanted to protect you from what he thought I’d do but you’re worse to yourself.”

     Ratchet was slowly cooling his throbbing, shocked spark, “That was the war, none of my patients now have his capacity for treachery.”

     “You take the ones no one else will. What happens when a Decepticon wakes up and believes himself still in the war? You’re the famed Autobot medic. How do they know the difference between you putting them back together versus tearing them apart?”

     Ratchet’s faceplate flickered and it was the first time Megatron saw any vestige of such powerful emotion on his face. The doctor always had a careful and cool composure in the face of interrogation and threat. It was only one lingering moment, but Megatron felt his spark twist with pain. He bared his denta as if Ratchet wounded him. The medic turned his helm away, no longer struggling up against Megatron’s heavy grip.

     If Ratchet slashed at him it would hurt less than the feeling that now permeated through Megatron’s spark. But there was no chance for recalling his actions or those words. He’d said his piece.

     “Who will help them if I don’t?” Ratchet replied softly, still not meeting the warbuild’s scornful glare, “Let me up please, Megatron.”

     Megatron released his servo before letting up on his chestplating. Ratchet sat up and rubbed his scraped joint and waited patiently for Megatron to shuffle up, releasing him. This taste of fear remained new yet familiar and Ratchet wasn’t too keen on how it cut through his systems.

     “I do not expect anything from my patients except survival,” Ratchet said quietly, returning peds to the floor.

     Megatron glared as Ratchet did his best to deadpan as he continued, “That includes yours, Megatron. I will do my best to give you an exit from Cybertron but you must guarantee you will not make an attempt on your life again.”

     “Some wounds are not meant to heal, doctor,” Megatron echoed a sentiment from the night before.

     “Granted,” Ratchet stood, gathering up his lonely cube and clutching it, “But those wounds can be improved upon or filled. I do not claim to be perfect or aware of all my flaws however,” the medic sighed, “I like patients to leave my operating table improved.”

     “You can’t improve me, Ratchet.” Megatron refused to look at the other mech. There was no reason to see that pain again.

     Megatron picked up the datapad and pretended to focus on it. As if he could read after that. He didn't look up from it until he heard the hiss of the outer door closing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Megatron get drunk

     Ratchet didn’t return for days.

     At first, Megatron convinced himself it was good thing. The apartment was well stocked. The presence of the medic wasn't something he needed or wanted. 

     However, a few days into his solitary, yet cushioned lifestyle, there came a knock on the door. With no answer whomever the bot was left within a few cycles, but it started a seed of worry which began to fester and sprout within his spark. Ratchet could avoid Megatron but it wasn’t like him to neglect a patient.

     After that he began researching ways to make up with the medic. Most on the network were romantic suggestions and he didn’t want his meaning skewed. But he could make something for the medic. Back in his gladiator days, making high-grade is what made you ‘friends’ with others. Some would make it out of oil but the best and easiest distilling processes were for energon.

     Ratchet’s kitchenware was stocked rather well. Obviously not the medic’s choice as most of it lay unused. Megatron easily wrecked anything he needed to create the concoction.

    The first day after the patient knocked on Ratchet’s door, Megatron created the still. It wasn’t a laborious task, yet he found himself getting distracted often.

     The second day, he ran the energon through the first still. He listened to it roil as he watched the city lights. He didn’t turn lights on at night, better to not alert anyone of his presence. He calmly turned over his options in the white noise of the still and the glow of the city.  

     The third, he stilled again, it would improve the flavor.

     On the fourth day, he left a mess waiting for Ratchet after extracting the distilled energon. Megatron entertained the fantasy when Ratchet returned he would be irate about the procedure.

     The fifth day yielded a slightly red iridescent liquid which was strained several times before Megatron poured it back into its cube. He cleaned up his project and waited patiently.

     On the fifth night Megatron woke to a loud clatter. A voice outside of the apartment yelled out, “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten my code.”

     Megatron scrambled up and leaned towards the berthroom before reconsidering and swerving to the closet. He winced as a dull metal _thunk_ sounded out in his rush to not be seen. 

     Pedfalls of two Autobots and Megatron would give anything to bear witness to what was happening behind that door.

     “Let’s head to your berthroom.”

     “No, no I’ll be fine on the couch,” Ratchet tried to change direction.

     “Ratchet,” Whoever this bot was, it wasn’t First Aid. From the crystalline voice, it sounded like a two-wheeler, “Ratchet, no.”

     To step out into the room would probably do more harm than good. Instead he hid in a wheel closet. This kind of predicament was far beyond anything Megatron imagined himself in. Hiding out in a domestic setting like he was the medic’s secret intrigue. Any panicked mirth at the thought laminated itself to his spark. When he tracked into Cybertronian space he’d hoped for death and not this farce of survival.

     “Hey Ratchet?”

     The voice startled Megatron, the bot went unheard until they spoke out in the kitchen.

     “Yes?”

     “What’s this stuff on the counter?”

     An extended pause and pedsteps signaled Ratchet’s return from the berthroom to the main rooms. He responded almost too soft for Megatron to hear, “That’s high-grade.”

     “Oh, you know how to make high-grade?”

     “I suppose I do.”

     After a brief silence, the bot chirped, “Well, I’m going to leave. Stop seeing so many patients.”

     Ratchet laughed and passed off the comment with an insincere promise and a farewell. The outside door closed. He heard another shuffle as Ratchet came over and opened his hiding place.

     They stood in silence, Megatron framed by the door looking down and Ratchet looking up at him.

     “You made high-grade?”

    Megatron rolled his shoulderplating, “I did.”

     Ratchet vented and returned to the kitchen, “Did you energize properly while I was gone?”

     “No, I just drank myself into a stupor.” Megatron shuffled from the closet.

     Questions burned in Megatron’s processor but he remained quiet. He calculated any misstep and Ratchet would leave rather than stay with his hated patient.

     “Did you make it for me?”

     Megatron snapped down to look at Ratchet. He responded cautiously, “For the both of us.”

     “I’m surprised you remembered how,” Ratchet admitted, he lifted the cube to the light to admire its hue.

     After being gone so long, the sight of the medic bracing himself against the counter with red light filtering down through the high-grade seemed nostalgic. A strange tightness seized Megatron’s spark.

     “I remember a lot of things from before the war,” Megatron told him. They both had wounds which managed to last far beyond the char and wreckage of war.

     “Let’s save it for when we find a way out for you,” Ratchet tucked the high grade away.

     Megatron wanted to tell the medic he made it to apologize. But it wasn’t as if Ratchet would take the metaphorical peace offering as something grand. Megatron shifted, “I haven’t been feeling well.”

     “Oh,” Ratchet’s optics widened and his brows shot up, “Well hop up on the berth and I’ll take a look.”

     Megatron tracked into the living room and took his place on the medical berth.

     “What seems to be the problem?” He asked, pulling a rolling seat from beneath the berth, “You don’t need to lie down for the scan.”

     “Tightness in my chestplating and restlessness,” Megatron shifted upright and looked down at the medic.

     “It sounds as if your mental condition is effecting your physical one.” Ratchet’s arm unit beeped as the scan passed over the warbuild, “What did you do while I was gone?”

     “Waited for your return.”

     Ratchet vented and leaned back, studying the scanner results. There was nothing physically wrong with Megatron although he should open him up and give a once over. He looked back up to the warlord, who now gazed out into the city.

     It was a beautiful view. That was one thing even Ratchet could enjoy. Megatron looked at the outside world with a twisted expression. It reminded the medic that Megatron was suffering enough.  

     “Thank you for the high grade,” Ratchet turned over his servos before looking up into Megatron’s optics, “I know our differences and personal history make it difficult for us. I know you didn’t ask to be rescued.”

     Megatron couldn’t deny it and anything he responded with would come out harsh.

     “You know, I think I will have some high-grade,” Ratchet said flatly, “You want some?”

     Megatron veiled his surprise, “If you’d like.”

     “I don’t even know what I can put it in,” Ratchet walked to the kitchen to retrieve the stuff. 

     “You have decorative ware,” Megatron gestured, “Above the refrigeration unit. Don’t you know your own things?”

     Ratchet shrugged, an action Megatron noted from watching him so carefully from the living room, “They don’t feel like mine.”

     Megatron couldn’t argue with that. Ratchet brought over glasses and high grade, “Are you going to drink it on the medical berth?”

     Megatron took the proffered glass and reached a servo out for the high grade which Ratchet graciously surrendered.

     The liquid sloshed out a little too quickly into his cup and made Megatron wonder if the medic was wary of being social with him. For Megatron, sitting in silence drinking was just as viable an option as making awkward small talk could ever be. Megatron respectfully filled his glass only halfway.

    “I’m am unsure of it's strength-“

     Too late, Ratchet emptied the vessel like a shot, gulping down the liquid. “Never met a batch I didn’t like.”

     Megatron wanted to admire his handiwork so he sniffed at the glass in his servo.

     “Seems strong,” Megatron frowned before taking a sip and grimacing, “It is.”

     Ratchet shrugged, “What did you make it with? If it’s energon you have to let it mellow.”

    “Or what?” Megatron hated to ask.

     Ratchet threw up his servos in a very ‘I don’t know’ motion.

     Megatron sipped experimentally it wasn’t anything either of them couldn’t handle.

     “Did you just make high grade while I was gone?” Apparently the medic was ready to socialize.

     Megatron swallowed his mouthful of energon, “Yes. The rest of my time went to research.”

     “Did you figure anything out?”

     Megatron didn’t like the tone Ratchet used to say that,  “It was very illuminating.”

     Ratchet rolled his optics and paced down. Megatron hid a smile behind his cup, trying not to let the Autobot catch his stare, “And what brings you back to me, Ratchet?”

     Ratchet’s optics flickered up keeping his unreadable, professional expression, “There was an incident at the hospital.”

     “What kind of incident?” Megatron knew he was being evasive, dramatically so even. Years of working with his second in command made him question ambiguity.

     Ratchet vented and walked back to the high-grade cube, pouring himself another full glass.

     “Careful,” Megatron warned.

     Ratchet met his optics fearlessly and took a solid gulp of the stuff. Megatron shook his helm, “There is no need to rebel so thoroughly against me. Nothing hangs in the balance but your own wit.”

     “Oh good, you’ll finally have an advantage,” Ratchet quipped back, taking a smaller drink from his glass.

     “I am glad you returned, Ratchet.”

     Ratchet’s optics telescoped and he side-eyed blank space with his usual harrumph. It was almost like he wanted to say something in his usual manner but refrained at Megatron’s rarely kind word.

     Ratchet took long sips from his own glass, “So, the whole thing is First Aid’s fault.”

     “What is?”

     “The patient flipping out. It’s his fault.”

     “The incident?” Megatron recalled from earlier.

     “Yes,” Ratchet squared his arms to punctuate his story, “All he had to do was listen. To. Me. And could he do that one task? No. Primus forbid he actually drag his helm from his tailpipe to do his job instead of flirt.”

     Megatron hid a smile akin to amusement at the coming rage. He’d grown used to such noise and rampant insults from a certain lecherous mech at his side, but Ratchet’s was brand new and not at him but rather  _for_ him, because Megatron had seemingly been foolish enough to inquire. He wondered if just anyone would be privy to the drunken rant had they been there as well.

     “A patient came in and _right there_ in his file” the doctor said, finger in his palm, “Was a specific instruction not to hook him up to a regulator because he had a field problem.” Ratchet managed to speak clearly despite his fledgling intoxication. “What does First Aid do?”

      Megatron raised an optic ridge, “Hooks him up to a regulator?”

     “He hooks him up to a regulator,” the medical unit echoed, making another round while Megatron watched, no longer keeping the bemused expression from his faceplate. “So of course, turns out he can emit violent magnetic pulses and he thinks he’s under attack by four Autobot medics. But to him they aren’t medics. Medicon.”

     Ratchet angrily turned to him, “ _Meditroncon_ just sits there and doesn’t know what to do and I’m left to fight this titanic son of a glitch _alone_.”

     Megatron chuckled.

     “This doesn’t mean you’re right,” Ratchet countered, growing insecure as the high-grade fuzzed his otherwise capable functions, “He isn’t my patient.”

     Megatron looked over his glass to see the Autobot interrupted himself with another long draught from his own. Ratchet looked positive and happy as he ambled back over to the berth to pour himself another cup.

     Megatron closed his claws over top of the glass before Ratchet could swallow its contents whole. He almost spoke to slow down, but that would probably add fuel to the fire. Megatron instead held out his own glass for the medic to fill again. 

“Anyway,” Ratchet filled it to the brim, “He knocked out half the hospital with an EM pulse.”

     Megatron did his best to look grave, as if the story made sense, “Did he harm you?”

     “No, I never disengage my RF generator,” Ratchet shrugged, “No sense in scaring people.”

     Megatron didn't question the decision. It was his own command to use the Autobots’ emotions against them. With the help of the strong high-grade and the knowledge that Ratchet was further gone than he, Megatron let his inner thoughts to crawl out, “Where did you think you’d be when the war ended?”

     “Dead,” Ratchet didn't miss a beat, “Offlining was the ideal outcome.”

     Megatron laughed, “How hypocritical of you, doctor.”

     Ratchet turned those energon-blue optics his way, “Tell me then. What would you have done with me if I survived?”

     Megatron couldn’t say the multitude of plans he kept for the medic if the war was won and the Autobots surrendered. It was far too shameful now. “I would utilize your skills same as the council.”

     Ratchet made a disbelieving noise and returned to his pacing up and down the floor. Megatron wondered if he could hide the high grade so Ratchet would not worsen his condition. It didn’t hurt to retire the liquid. Rather than draw attention by a jaunt to the kitchen, Megatron slide the cube closed and tucked it under the medical berth.

     “Granted, I wouldn’t give you such luxurious quarters, unless they were my own.” Normally, Megatron guarded his tongue. But he’d been in Ratchet’s intoxicated company before and he was a high energy drunk. Distracting him with that comment would veil the missing high-grade. Plus, when the Autobot lost his buzz he didn’t care much to bring up what was said and done.

     When Ratchet made no mention or response Megatron looked for one. Silence from the medic was never a good omen. He stared at the lights of Cybertron glittering out in the world.

     “When this all began, I’d thought it’d be you and Orion.”

     This was new. Megatron set his glass on the medical berth, as if it was a distraction from what the medic spoke out.

     “How irregular.” Megatron had his indecencies he wanted to spew but he’d wait until the medic was done.

     Ratchet turned to the ex-warlord, “You and Orion had a true friendship. Ours was based on impedance.”

     “Remind me again of what that is,” Megatron hadn’t heard the phrase in millions of years.

     “Our sparks had the same energy, same amount,” Ratchet gestured to the world, “I don’t think you realize how rare that is, to have total impedance with another Cybertronian. To not be afraid of hurting them when you’re charged and ready for interfacing.”

     Megatron found fascination with Ratchet’s sudden divulgence of he and Optimus’ relationship. Of course, in his gladiator days he suspected that Orion and Ratchet maintained the “friends with benefits” relationship. Orion did sleep with at least Alpha Trion and Megatron, so he didn't doubt the young librarian shacked up with Ratchet as well. “So, what does that mean?”

     Ratchet vented out a sigh, “Optimus usually was on the bottom in his relationships prior.”

     “I recall.”

     Ratchet shot him a glare, “I was the same, until Orion. He and I had a friendship that knew no measure after that. But I always felt it had no real substance. But he didn’t talk to anyone like he did me. Until a gladiator named Megatronus came along.”

     It was odd hearing Ratchet talk about him like he wasn’t sitting before him. But he was out of highgrade, so the medic ambled over for more. Not wanting to deny him as he divulged the unknown, Megatron handed his own glass over and watched the Autobot take a drink. Without the social lubricant, he might stop.

     Ratchet began to walk away, but Megatron caught his servo, “Please continue.”

     He looked irritated but didn’t pull away, “I came to Kaon with Orion because of his interest in you. You were his mentor, his _everything_. When they made them Prime I was sure you’d be right with him during that. He was having such a hard time and I told him, I lied to him ‘don’t worry, Megatronus will help you through this’. I was sure that he would be the kind, gentle figurehead for Cybertron and you would be the true heart of policy. I thought it was over. He wanted your guidance and you called him your enemy. And the war began.”

     “Tell me more about you and Orion,” Megatron demanded.

     Ratchet changed the subject, “C’mere for a second I wanna show you something.”

     Megatron didn’t mind the subject switch much. If it was somewhat easy the first time, he’d try again at the next opportunity. He followed the medic without a word to the berthroom.

     “If you wanna know why I don’t use the bath, I'll show you.”

     He didn’t point out to the intoxicated medic that he could just tell him about whatever it was he wished to show him.

     Ratchet went from the berthroom to the washroom and Megatron raised an optic ridge but followed him. He didn’t offer assistance as Ratchet slid into the wide tube and he realized exactly why. Ratchet fit fully into the wide basin. Only his optics peeked out angrily above the rim, “This apartment wasn’t made for me. It was a cast off for some official. They gave it to me to shut me up or something. I’ll need some help getting out, by the way.”

     Megatron reached a single servo down and lifted Ratchet up and out of the tub basin. He ignored Ratchet’s desperate clutch at his digits and set him gingerly down. The medic swayed ever so slightly but did not fall.

     “Optimus missed you a lot. I never thought he was content with me. It's my own insecurity, but he was your equal in everything else,” Ratchet spoke in a lonely tone to the floor.

     Something clawed at Megatron’s spark so he roughly grabbed Ratchet’s chin and wrenched it up, glaring into his clear blue optics. “I pursued you violently because I knew you were Optimus’ precious medic. I loathed his lapdog as voraciously as I did the Prime. It would hit his spark the worst for me to have you. If you still harbor a grudge over my perceived theft of Pax, why did you save me?”

     Ratchet jerked away and wandered to the door, “It’s what Optimus would have wanted.”

     “What did _you_ want, Ratchet?” Megatron followed him into the other room.

     Ratchet vented and flopped onto the berth, rubbing his optics with his servos.

     “Did you want me offline?”

     “No,” Ratchet vented out, “It’s going to sound dumb, Megatron. I’m going to sound utterly ridiculous in front of some mech who could kill me should I sound so stupid.”

     On a whim, Megatron sat next to him on the berth and Ratchet peeked out from behind his servos, “Come closer.”

     Megatron rolled his optics before leaning in.

     “Don’t judge me,” Ratchet whispered loudly, “But I thought…given everything that’s happened maybe a little bit of Optimus managed to survive in you. You had that change of spark. …I thought maybe if you survived a little bit of him would too.”

     Megatron felt his spark swirl, he wasn’t anything like Optimus.

     “I think a little bit of Optimus lives in you as well, Ratchet.” Megatron said gently, allowing himself to blame the small amount of high grade for his actions. Megatron reached out a clawed servo to stroke the side of the medic's faceplate.

     He blinked and tensed at the touch but didn't pull away. After a few gentle strokes, Megatron took Ratchet’s chin in his digits. He pulled the medic helm up pushing his own daringly close. He could feel the medic’s heated breath but stopped short. He studied the face of the Autobot before him, as if trying to find some answer etched on his faceplate.

     Ratchet closed the distance, pushing his helm up to connect their lips. Megatron saw sparks fly as he pressed feverishly on the medic. His spark fluxed at the idea that Ratchet would soon push him away but for now he was eager to experience him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making this my highest liked work. I hope it continues to live up to everyone's expectations.


	9. NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty Chapter.
> 
> Megatron takes another bath.

     Megatron’s servos wandered the smaller frame, digging his claws to draw out muffled venting from the creature below him. Ratchet opened his mouth and clung lightly to the larger mech, his digits curling against Megatron’s metal. Their glossas slid against each other and Megatron hoped he wasn’t trapping him in his haste.

     Megatron stopped the kiss, pulling away and venting out. He didn’t deserve this. He was sullying the Autobot’s trust and professionalism. In the least he stood on Optimus’memory. The Prime did not allow him to live so he could spike his medic. Primus, Ratchet didn’t bring him from the well of allsparks for a tryst. What was the Autobot feeling right now? Asking him to drop his RF shielding would be a level of intimacy he wasn’t sure he was ready for. What if Ratchet was kissing him in fear of what else he would do?

     The medic didn’t let him speak, merely closed his optics and desperately kissed the ex-warlord again. Megatron pushed him away, flattening him down with a single servo, “Why are you doing this?”

     Ratchet vented out and wriggled, “Do you get a kick out of pinning bots to the berth or is it just my privilege?”

     Megatron frowned and leaned forward to kiss him again to subdue his sardonicism, clinging to his helm to hold to him close as he dominated his mouth. Ratchet’s glossa protested the movement and he curled both servos as best he could to embrace him. Megatron braced himself so he wouldn’t put his full weight on the smaller bot.

     Ratchet became limp, servos suddenly passive on the warframe. Worried, Megatron pulled away to find that Ratchet’s optics were offline. The damned medic had fallen into recharge, probably drained from his five or so days constantly working. Megatron stroked his helm, alarmed at the feeling of being without his dialogue, his awakened presence.

     No, that wasn’t right. Not that Megatron hadn’t once entertained the thought, but not like this. Not as two broken old bots coping with their loss with each other.  

     He stood up from the berth. He distanced himself from the sleeping medic, choosing instead to ease his slight charge in the tub. He was privy to gruesome luxuries, and the medic’s underused basin was surely hundreds up steps up from that.

     The lull of the ripples overcame the static in his audials as Megatron looked over what he’d done. It wasn’t as if things progressed too far; Ratchet had kissed a lot of people before the war. He appeared to like kissing as much as fixing things, both activities in which he lacked restraint.

     But there was still that uncomfortable charge that sat at the base of his frame.

     Megatron drew his servo lazily through the water. Ratchet wasn’t waking up any time soon, might as well indulge himself.

     He opened his panel to feel the fluids eddy around his equipment. He let himself get used to the feeling, spread out his legs and relaxed. In the warm fluids Megatron considered if he offered, whether or not Ratchet would take a bath with him. Surely he’d perform another display at how deeply undersized he was for such an appliance. Perhaps he should sit atop Megatron’s lap then.

     The warlord’s frame made a deep, resonating sound.

     Ratchet would be affronted. Or rather, appalled at the lack of efficiency to clean being perched like the lapdog he was. Megatron found himself warmed by the fluid in his frame’s vicinity, loose bubbles curving by his chest at the surface. The medic would’ve been a fine edition had he remained after the kidnapping; planet-renown for his surgical prowess, he’d certain replace a piece of shareware such as Knockout instantaneously. In addition to also having known the young librarian Pax, Ratchet could even become familiar enough with him to show his berth prowess as well.

     Megatron made another heated rumble.

     But he hated the Lord of the Decepticons. Despised him, and the feeling until lately been met with dedication to keep it mutual. Megatron didn’t hate Ratchet the way he hated Autobots.

     In fact, this mech reminded him of when Cybertron had no factions, only scruples. Even if some kindnesses were practiced in vain. At least in his processor he could indulge in one such different kindness between them. Especially in such a dependent location.

       Ratchet doing his best to find purchase on Megatron, finally straddling him… Since it was only a fantasy, Megatron imagined his flustered face, a memory slightly corrupted with age as the medic would feel Megatron’s girth beneath him.

     In reality, Ratchet wouldn’t be wanton and begging for his spike. He wouldn’t sit pretty for Megatron to thrust into him like he was forged for it. But Megatron knew he wouldn’t be like Starscream who put his lovers through a gauntlet of medical screenings before so much as kissing them. The elusive seeker kept everyone at weapon’s reach; Megatron imagined Ratchet to be more fluid in his lovers, though he supposed he could afford to be.

     There was a chance. A chance that Ratchet would slip into that warm liquid alongside him. A chance that he’d straddle him and that is what Megatron held to in his fantasy.

     He imagined that fearless glare of stubbornness to not give in and closed his optics, leaning back against the basin groaning out, “Don’t tell me you can’t handle something so big.”

     Megatron set his servo on his spike; it was far from Ratchet’s dexterous formed servos, but they would have to do. Megatron imagined the medic hesitant at first, like most of his partners throughout his career. Cautious yet fearfully sober stroking uncertain patterns over the biolights of his spike. He moaned out to encourage the virtual Ratchet to grasp him harder. He squeezed his spike and imagined his lover curling over; half submerged in the water to work at his fully submerged spike.

     He replayed the feeling of Ratchet beneath him, kissing him passionately. How different would it be if the medic was pressed wanting against him. Desperate for love, dipping his glossa in as he did before.

      The figment got too needy. Ratchet was always hasty when it came to the important things. It’s why he came for Megatron on Earth. Whether it was the haze of high grade, synthen, or his own lust, Ratchet was impatient for resolution.

     Primus, he could envision the wince of pain as he squeezed tighter on his spike. Ratchet being breathy was all that Megatron could guess at. What kind of noise would the medic make? What did his pleasured face look like as he rode the vibrant spike?

     Megatron resonated again and fought the urge to demand to find out. His own servo would have to be a sufficient substitute. The washfluid was an effective illusion to believe the medic was there, a figment of his shame as he thrust up into his clenching servo. He groaned out and swiveled his hips up, transfluid leaking and dissipating from his spike tip. Moaning for the medic to go faster, speaking out his designation loudly. He didn’t care if Ratchet woke up from an audio-full of his self-service- all the better. He wanted the Autobot to know the pleasure he derived from the pretend medic that gyrated and leaned on him, dependent as he was on the ache to overload.

     His white and red form, scraping against him just as he did the Prime. Loving him happily, pushing onto his spike with a desire that exceeded his fear. His digits searching for purchase on the larger mech. Accidentally calling out the name of the Prime before flushing bright and kissing away his mistake. Talking how they should take it to the berth so he didn’t slip off the warlord. Megatron crooned that he’d keep the medic steady.

     Megatron grunted as he slipped down. He readjusted in the bath and slid his servo furiously up and down his spike, imagining himself thrusting heavy into the slick valve of the voracious virtual Autobot that moaned for him to fill his tanks.

     He splashed out washfluid onto the floor as his frame writhed. He overloaded with a guttural groan that raged out of his vocalizer.

      After the charge from his overload dissipated, he climbed out of the lukewarm tub and vented out the hot air that stuck in his systems. He watched as the water and evidence of his actions swirled away down the drain. Megatron felt his eroded pride and sanity follow them.

     He shouldn’t have imagined him.

       Megatron shouldn’t have entertained the notion of being with Ratchet, defiling him like he seemingly yearned to. After properly drying off the surrounding floor and his equipment, he closed his panel.

     He curled his digits over his faceplate and closed his optics as he knelt on the floor. After a moment of reflection, he smoothed over his inner turmoil to step out to the berthroom.

     Ratchet still recharged peacefully, curling up into a fetal position as he remained blissfully unaware that his name and likeness were being violated in the wash room. Megatron steeled himself and stared down at the peaceful figure resting below him.

     Decepticons did not participate in war crimes. Although interrogation methods were less than savory, touching an Autobot physically meant execution. That didn’t mean conditioning was out of the question or something Megatron did not entertain.

     Ratchet would never touch him like that; he would never look at him the same way he looked at Orion or Optimus. He would never cuddle up to Megatron’s side or clutch at him in need. Megatron was the fallen leader of the Decepticon cause and Ratchet was doing his best to save all of Cybertron from his living room.

     He shook off his hesitation and slipped into the berth, raising the sheets to burrow against Ratchet’s back.

     “Megatron?”

     The motion woke the Autobot and Megatron prepared for the worst as he turned and face him, “Where were you?”

     He hesitantly placed a servo on his shoulderplating, “I took a bath.”

     “Mmm,” his optics flickered back offline as he pressed into Megatron’s chest.

     It wasn’t an embrace. Ratchet tucked his servos in and made himself as small as possible against him. But he didn’t shove away Megatron’s servos and didn’t mind Megatron’s peds tucking under his own.

     Ratchet vented out a contented sigh, sounding so unlike the other frustrated noises he could make. Once again Megatron felt that painful tightness in his spark. He was touching him with the same digits that were wrapped around his spike only moments before.

     No matter how guilty Megatron told himself he should be, he never really changed deep down. He knew he enjoyed the thought of being here with the medic.

     Megatron gently stroked his helm before drifting into his own recharge.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron meets an OC and gets jealous for no reason.

     Megatron slipped awake in the early hours of the morning. He was a light sleeper so the noise of Ratchet’s systems powering online always stirred him from even locked recharge. But he wished he wasn’t. He wanted to wonder how long the medic had remained in his servos after his systems came back online. There was some selfish part of him that wanted to marvel at the smaller Autobot lost in thought in his clutches.

     This time, he said nothing and merely slipped out from beneath the medic and away from the berth. He didn’t want Ratchet to jump out of the berth like he did last time. It would be better just to let the medic get some rest.

     However, there wasn’t much to distract himself with. He could read, but at this point he’d read everything this new Cybertron had to offer. Reading would do nothing for his current mix of emotions. As worthless as they were, they were nice compared to the fire of war and anger he was used to.

     Megatron stood in the window, looking over the waking of the world. In that fringe of the morning, as light ebbed into every dark corner, he knew he still had something to give.  It was violently frustrating to know that despite his mark in the world, it continued. Although Ratchet was correct: keeping things as they are would only bring trouble. Living here revived the burn in his core to help Cybertron overcome its suffering a second time.

     As the last vestiges of night faded away, Megatron turned from the scenery back to his custodial. A flash of red drew his gaze, the hidden cube of high grade reminding him of the events from the night before. He hastened to retrieve it from its place. There was a lag in his wonder if it would be better to hide it from the medic, keep the events of last night from repeating. Then again, there was only really one aspect of last night’s rather cozy events he wished to undo.

     The outer door opened.

     For a flicker, his processor believed it was Ratchet, returning from his day at work but as it closed behind the intruder, he fit the piece into place. There was nowhere near to hide.  

     The intruder was small which remained a reassuring factor. She had a visor and a terrible ostentatious shade of tinted red that burned the optic. Decals ran along her like art she was a grounder with Knockout’s gaudy tastes.

     “Hello.”

     The first thing Megatron could tell is they had a high timber voice and an unsettling way about them. In fact, it was as if his metal carried a charge from her presence. It put him on edge as much as her sudden entrance. She carried herself well enough- wasn’t skulking around like an intruder.

     “How did you get in?” Megatron curled the servo where his cannon heated. Firing the weapon indoors would only announce his presence. He shut down the building charge; he’d have to get close for hand-to-hand combat should it come to blows.

     “I know the code,” the visor made it so difficult to read her expression, “What’s with the high grade?”

     Megatron looked down at the cube in his servo, “We drank.”

     “I see.” She tracked forward more than Megatron realized, focused on how to react. She gently lifted the high grade out of his servos, inspecting it much like Ratchet did, “How did you get it?”

     “I concocted it,” Megatron watched as she moved so fluidly around him. She wasn’t afraid of him which made him just as wary of her as a normal bot should of him. He flinched as she turned back to him and gestured to the couch.

     “Why don’t you have a seat?”

     Megatron’s processor raced. Leaving would do nothing. Was this a police unit? If so, how did she know Ratchet’s code? Was she about to detain him and spend the next day reading him his list of crimes?

     Once Megatron settled down she spoke again, “Ratchet gave me the code, you don’t have to worry.”

     Part of him assured him it must be true but it was a betrayal of his own thoughts. She moved forward as if to sit beside him and in a rather childish way, he spread his pedes to deny it. Again, that visor didn’t betray her emotion as she sat on his ped, straddling it and facing him.

     “You’re a warbuild then?”

     “That’s impolite,” Megatron growled out. With her this close, a faint buzzing rang through his audials. So focused on exactly _what_ she emitted he didn’t bother pushing her away.

     “Are you interfacing with Ratchet?”

     Megatron bared his teeth defensively and grabbed around her waist. His digits touched each other and she wrapped her own digits around an arm spike and spoke soft again, “It’s just a question.”

     The buzzing was too loud now. His servos felt glued to her svelte waist. He finally managed to spit out, “We aren’t.”

        “Oh, you’re a patient?”

     “Yes.”

     The buzzing faded immediately and began to pull away. Megatron would not let her get away so easily. He pulled her back with his servos on her waist hunching over and meeting her optic to visor, “Why are you here?”

     “For service,” she said coquettishly, turning her helm up to him.

     “What kind of service?”

     Visor kept his stare and a smile played at their lips. She didn’t have an em field, or they had it jammed, and offered no reassurance. The Autobot did look new, he couldn’t quite figure out if she was intelligence or speed model. She didn’t have a scratch on her; no dings or marks or misplaced paint. She was far more maintained than Knockout ever was with the best materials. But she looked small, and fragile. What made matter’s worse is that he seemed transfixed by that bright blue visor. It looked unreal. As if she was replaying a memory, the Autobot placed one claw around her helm, clutching it close to her. Megatron rose defensively, reminded of Ratchet.

     “What kind of service do you think?”

      He couldn’t tell if she whispered it or if it was a private communication but for a lingering moment all he could think about was his claw on the small of her back and how he could crush her helm in his other servo.

     “ _Hey_.”

     Ratchet’s incredulous warning made Megatron flinch and tear away the servo from her back. But Ratchet didn’t seem to care one bit about where Megatron’s servos were on his patient. As the bot slunk off Megatron, he lectured, “Don’t do that to him, he’s far too old to be messing about. What if you were injured?”

     “You’d fix me up, wouldn’t you doctor?”

     “Don’t push your luck,” Ratchet liked her just fine then. He turned to Megatron, “Disengage and reengage your EM field jammer.”

     Megatron did as he said wondering why the sudden command.

     “You,” Ratchet pointed to the medical berth and addressed the newcomer, “On the table we have something to talk about.”

     “Your high grade,” the ostentatious bot spoke mockingly innocent as she offered the cube.

     Ratchet turned to Megatron, handing off the liquid, “Megatron I’d like you to meet Electraceae. I am hoping she can arrange to get you off planet.”

     “This is Megatron,” Electraceae seemed incredulous, “I thought he’d be bigger.”

     She reached out to shake his servo, but Ratchet batted her away, “Don’t play games. He’s not the patient type.”

     Ratchet gave no explanation, merely shooed him away to the kitchen to return the high grade. Megatron observed from the corner of his optic as Ratchet lifted her helm.

     “How do you feel, any headaches?”

     “No.”

     Megatron knew why he didn’t like the way she leaned into the medic’s touch but he would never admit it, even to himself.

     “What about your vision?”

     “It’s fine, Ratchet. I’m in your capable servos.”

     “Cut out the slag,” Ratchet warned her.

      He talked very familiar with the younger bot. She was so unlike First Aid, Ratchet didn’t shy away from her touch or seemed to mind much when she slung her servos around him.

     “My vision is clear right now.”

     Megatron wasn’t going to be separated from her and the medic no matter how much she creeped him out.

     “Okay, then let’s begin.”

     Electraceae looked to Megatron and tilted her helm close to Ratchet, whispering out something.

     “I assure you, Electraceae, if he were to reveal himself to spill your secrets you’d have nothing to worry about,” Ratchet assured her, removing her limbs from him gently, “Now, please.”

      She tilted her helm and Ratchet made a strange swipe across her audial fin with a sharp click. Megatron watched in horror as the visor, part of her helm, and both audial fins gently lifted to reveal a much different bot. She had two optics, one blue and one a hazard yellow. The yellow had a deep scar ornamenting it much like her tattoos. To put it lightly; someone had attempted to blow her face off.

    “It’s a modification,” Megatron had to marvel at Ratchet’s work. It could only be his. The audial fins looked just like Optimus’ with a little more winged flair to them now that he looked at it.

     “Yes,” the pink bot responded as Ratchet was far too involved in checking out the electronic, “It’s a mod.”

     “Is that why earlier-?”

     “No,” Ratchet answered, “That was a glitch we haven’t figured out yet.”

     “I could show you,” the pink bot’s appearance now looked far more unnerving than before, “If you want to.”

     “No,” Ratchet stated, his voice warning and pleading all at once, “I have to live with him.”

     Megatron’s frustration bled out at being kept in the dark, “I have my own right to decide Ratchet. What can you show me?”

     Electraceae looked at Ratchet and was much easier to read without the visor on. She admired him in some way. Looked to him for a degree of guidance at least.

     Ratchet threw up his servos, “Primus, don’t do anything to get yourself killed. And I’m wiping my field.”

     “I won’t,” she seemed to be making a promise. Yet Megatron saw that mischievous smile from earlier.

     Electraceae scooted a little closer to Megatron, “It’ll be easier if you turn on your em field.”

     Megatron glanced to Ratchet but he’d turned his full attention to her helmpiece, choosing to ignore whatever this was.

     Megatron eased out his em field from behind the jammer. The pink Autobot scooted closer and spoke gently, as if easing him through a procedure.

     “So, I’m going to turn mine on and it’s going to feel a bit funny. But when you recharge, it will give you what you wish for most. Understand?”

     “How?”

     “She doesn’t know,” Ratchet grumped, “No one does. It’s a glitch at best.”

     “It’s an ability,” Megatron countered.

     Electraceae beamed at the compliment and then shifted again, “Okay, now if you ground yourself or….” She glanced at Ratchet, “Just don’t do anything with your em field until after you fall asleep okay?”

     “You can’t even engage your jammer,” Ratchet spoke, this time meeting Megatron’s optics. That meant he’d have to keep his field in very close.

      Again, that buzzing, but it stopped just as quickly as it started, “You’re done.”

     “And you’re done too,” Ratchet handed over the mod and Electraceae re-engaged it. Megatron had to wonder again how like the Optimus the audial fins were “Now we discussed payment this time.”

     “No problem. We’ll use my event. I’ll have to get some people involved. Holostrike will not be pleased, but she keeps her mouth shut,” the femme jumped down from the berth. “I’ll let you know the details as I get them.”

     “Keep me informed,” Ratchet grimaced.

     “Bye boys, have fun,” She wriggled her digits as she left.

     Ratchet vented the moment the door closed behind her and Megatron finally had the nerve to ask, “She does not know me?”

     “No,” Ratchet began packing up the tiny tools he’d been used to tune the complicated modification, “She’s only just forged.”

     “What is her function?” With the grounder’s absence, he could easily appreciate the thought of a impudent new spark hell raising in the streets of Cybertron.

     Ratchet leaned back on his wheelbeds, “Words I’d never think to hear uttered by you, Megatron.”

     “I am curious.”

     “She’s an escort. The council uses her to rein in Cybertronian trafficking. Her original function was- _is_ unknown but I surmise intelligence.”

     They sat in an awkward silence before Ratchet continued, “If she offers, please be gentle.”

     “What?” Megatron looked at Ratchet, surprised at the words.

     Ratchet merely shrugged and turned away, not clarifying the subtext of his meaning.

     “Have you achieved impedance with her?” With the output of that field she probably had ample energy despite her size. Then again, he could just be speculating.

     Ratchet glared but didn’t flare up or become flustered, “No. She’s only just forged Megatron, as interested as I am in her frame it is purely scientific in nature.”

     But he was interested in her. Of course, Ratchet was allowed an interested in others. He would have a life on Cybertron. It was wrong to wish that Ratchet be as trapped in the past as he was.

     “Speaking of which, I’d thought I’d look at your frame, please.”

    Megatron obediently sat down on the cleared medical berth and Ratchet set to work, flipping open his spark chamber. His chestplating swung out like doors and the medic studied the ebb of the spark.

     “The dark energon in your core is gone.”

     “Of course, Optimus purged it from my system,” Megatron worried that perhaps the medic had a corruption in his memory.

     Ratchet rubbed his thumb digit, his look of worry not something Megatron thought he deserved. “I told you once when you regained consciousness, but when they found you, you had dark energon in your system.”

     “It seems some mistakes are not easily forgiven,” Megatron meant to soothe but Ratchet only looked worried.

     “Has it ever been able to just disappear like that?”

     Megatron shook his helm, “My arrogance in tampering with dark energon is that it would find me worthy of it. I thought I was freed.”

     “Maybe it was just my imagination,” Ratchet didn’t sound convincing.

     Megatron watched as Ratchet stared into his spark. He knew the medic’s processor was busy with something else. But he hated the way the medic looked so haggard. Probably remembering something about Prime. He wanted to close his chestplating and bring him in closer, hugging him to his frame.

     It wouldn’t be a comfort.

     “I do not think it will appear if you just glare,”

     “Hmm,” Ratchet snapped back from his reverie, “Yes. I have things I’ve been neglecting but I’ll return tomorrow morning, I promise.”

     Megatron closed his spark chamber with a swift movement, watching as Ratchet moved to busy himself elsewhere, “I await your return.”

     Again, Ratchet flashed him that worried expression. But it was their final words before he left Megatron alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know OC's are no one's favorite but it's the only conceivable way I could figure this out. Again, if you want your OC to be part of the extraction team just send me a name and brief description. My email is in my profile. I'll take it down in three days.
> 
> I know my OC/Windblade fic had a vehement dissenter to it, so I took it down. But Electraceae was always going to be the 'ring leader' so to speak. She's not going to make another appearance though I promise.
> 
> That being said. Full warning for people who don't like NSFW chapters the next chapter is going to be rough but it's not THE NSFW chapter if you know what I mean?


	11. NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron has a wet dream.
> 
> ****UPDATED CHAPTER WITH FULL CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for the delay. Should be up and running soon. After the service I caught up with RID and the episodes were really bad, but hey that's what fanfiction is for right? Thanks again for everyone's patience.

     Ratchet grew ever more tired.

     It seemed right that he would, he’d spent the whole day out. But now, as Megatron caressed his ped, he was getting noticeably lax on responses, merely panting out blindly to the pleasure provided. The warlord could feel the medic’s burn rising through his armor.

     He pulled at his bonds and Megatron knew he wanted release in more ways than one. In the beginning, he’d been rather petulant but now he was a panting, fluid-covered mess.

     Megatron didn’t offer any croons or reassuring moans. He would derive no pleasure from this until he was spike deep in the medic’s valve, listening to his vocalizer scream out with static from the charge of pleasure he delivered. Just like Orion used to do.

      Only he was not Orion.

     “You’re not responding well, Ratchet,” Megatron withdrew fluid covered digits from one orifice, bringing them up to stab to Ratchet’s panting mouth. He licked out at the fluid, and Megatron could feel his glossa against his digits as he blindly tried to please, “You need a reminder of who you’re letting touch you.”

     Megatron placed a servo on Ratchet’s ped, stroking into the thigh gently, feeling out what seam in otherwise smooth metal would be the most sensual to press against. When the medic arced, sparking charge at a press, he knew his mark was made.

     There was a sharp crack as he dug his claw forcefully there, feeling the armor split. Ratchet spat out his digits with the cry of pain and tried to twist away, kicking Megatron’s claw. He finally withdrew, his claws dripping with the medic’s energon.

     “Whose medic are you, Ratchet?”

     Megatron snapped awake.

     There was a sharp _rip_ as the berthsheets tore in his abrupt and vicious revival.

 _What in the name of Primus was that?_ The warbuild’s cooling fans ran high and he did his best to suck in some cool air to calm his systems.

     He’d overloaded; how many times, he couldn’t be sure but there was a vile mess trapped behind his panel. The overflow leaked out from behind his spiky seams, oozing in lazy rivulets to the berth.

     His processor raced to marvel slightly at the ability before slipping deep within himself on what his frame betrayed him with.

      Is that how he wanted Ratchet? Bound and displayed for his pleasure? Wasn’t he passed lording himself over the medic?

     His spark twisted again; he still held the urge inside him to defile what the Prime held so dear, only now it was blended with whatever that Autobot pushed onto him.

     How long would that lifelike dream have continued if he hadn’t been so desperate to deny its conclusion? Megatron did his best to shutter out whatever dark place that dream came from. It was easy to cut away the emotion. Even those that were embedded within him.

     He reactivated his em field jammer and it grounded him, finally pushing away any excitement from the last flickers of imagery from the dream. He freed himself from the tangle of berthsheets.

     His fluids remained a tell in the rayon sheets so he tore them from the berth, not caring to injure anything further. It was best to rinse himself clean of the shame of the night before so he headed to the shower.

     Systems raced even as he rinsed himself clear of any telling sign of fluids.

     He couldn’t deny or conceal his feelings towards Ratchet anymore he mused as the rush of washfluid pounded into him. Could it really be classified as sexual rage? He didn’t exactly love Ratchet- no this emotion was far too selfish to be called love. There was a degree of comfort with Ratchet, even if Ratchet hated him, he wanted that familiarity. Long were the days when war was personal. All of his recent enemies had been unknown harbingers of hatred for crimes Megatron couldn’t remember committing. Crimes against this medic, however, were numerous and vivid. Apparently, he wanted more. He wanted to etch himself into Ratchet’s memories even after he went offline.

     The dream replayed, as if torturing him with the reflection of what he wanted. Lingering in his processor like a bad vibration. How could he possibly know what that grey faceplate looked like when twisted with pleasure?

     He certainly knew what he looked like in pain.

     Although his frame was clean, his mind was anything but. The washfluid would do no good to tear his neural net away from the unanswered questions.

     When Megatron finally emerged from the shower he was jolted to see Ratchet waiting out there for him.

     Ratchet’s grim expression confused him until he spoke, “It wasn’t a good wish then.”

     For a moment, Megatron was confused. But the events of yesterday came rushing back to him passed the confusion of the morning. Megatron must have looked faint because Ratchet rushed forward.

     “Are you alright?”

     Ratchet touched him. Allowed him to brace up against his frame. His cool metal pressed delicately against his. It made Megatron’s tanks roil but he rested his servos on the medic’s shoulders. “Ratchet.”

     “I warned you both about this,” he fretted, checking over his patient, “What did you feel?”

      Megatron wanted to draw the real medic into his servos, to apologize profusely for the images that haunted his recharge. Instead he drew back, no longer relying on the support of the smaller frame.

     “It was nothing.”

     “’Nothing’ doesn’t ruin a set of my sheets.” Ratchet met his optics and frowned, “She must have been frightened by you. She emits her own emotions and yours.”

     “Frightened is not the word I would use,” Megatron admitted guiltily.

     He felt backed into a corner with Ratchet being so close to him. Desperately, he picked up the medic and set him aside.

     He seemed a bit miffed to be pulled aside like that and pressed the issue. “What happened in it?”

     Megatron stepped away, suddenly wanting to escape the Autobot, “Nothing of importance.”

     “Pardon my curiosity, but I think I should know,” Ratchet paused. His vocalizer cracked a little.

     He would question until he got his answer, so Megatron countered with his own, “What did you see in yours?”

     Ratchet flushed bright and turned his helm down and to the side, “I…I saw Optimus again.”

     Megatron felt himself frown at the sickly sweetness of that, sneering, “How faithful his lap dog remains.”

     Ratchet flared up with that, “I understand you think I was Optimus’ personal harlot. But you’d be to blame for that too. I’m sorry your dream of him was so violent.”

     “It wasn’t Optimus,” Megatron replied, “It was you.”

     “What did you do, rip me in half for annoying you?” Ratchet folded his servos, “If I’m half a thorn in your side as Starscream was, consider it payment for your treatment.”

     Before Megatron could stop him, the medic picked up the crumpled berthsheets, huffing something about replacing them.

     “I’m leaving but don’t forget your morning energon,” Ratchet called back to him.

     Ratchet left, desperate as always to be away from him. Megatron could only dread if Ratchet would find the unfortunate surprise waiting in the folds of the berthsheets.

**

     Ratchet muttered mostly to himself as he stalked down the halls of his building. Although rayon was a plastic, it was an organic plastic that remained difficult to replicate here on Cybertron. Getting something so warm would be difficult to do and sleeping next to Megatron’s warmth continued to be a dangerous game. How long before Megatron began to pick him apart piece by piece?

     Ratchet really shouldn’t be so harsh on the damn bastard. It wasn’t Megatron’s choice to be online at this point. If the tables were turned, wouldn’t Ratchet want to stay on Cybertron, despite it being in the hands of the enemy?

     Isn’t that what he planned to do at one point?

     Ratchet shifted the load in his servos and felt something wet and cold slide against his metal.

     “Primus,” he wriggled the servo out from the mass of sheets, “What in the name-?”

     Ratchet in that moment cursed his automatic sensors identifying the strange liquid that dappled and stuck to his frame. He dropped the sheets in horror, servos shaking from the sudden realization of what _exactly_ Megatron thought of him.

     He immediately sluiced away the liquid with his digits and wiped them on a clean part of the fallen berthsheets. The medic hated the way his servos trembled.

     Orion spoke of Megatron often. At first Ratchet was jealous of the talk of long discussions that turned into fevered debauchery. Once Megatron turned, he felt that Optimus sometimes fantasized him when they shared a berth. He’d let himself be lax; he let his guard down. He hadn’t minded the touches from the warlord because it made him feel less lonely. It made him feel as if Optimus was still there, cuddling the medic into his berth.

     Ratchet straightened up and convinced himself to delicately pick up the berthsheets.

_I kissed him._

     It was true, although no excuse, Ratchet did kiss Megatron. His patient had been an ample distraction from discussing it. Megatron’s hatred of him could be channeled into a desire for sexual conquest and it hadn’t exactly been a taboo subject.

     Ratchet tossed the berthsheets in the recycling chute, careful to keep fluids from sticking to his frame. His processor focused on Megatron; he didn’t exactly seem pleased about the whole affair. He wasn’t wracked with pleasure but rather seemed afraid.

     Afraid of touching him.

     His processor danced at the edge of how Megatron imagined him and thrills ran through his circuitry. The strength of the charge made him clutch at his chestplate and helm.

     He swallowed and did his best to loosen his tightening plating. There was no time for this nonsense. He vented out and did his best to regain his composure.

     The return to the apartment gave Ratchet enough time to pretend to compose himself.

     Megatron looked at him when he entered the door, looking for signs that he was onto his little indiscretion. But Ratchet was just as good at hiding as he ever was.

     “Did you take your energon?” Megatron pushed a cube to him, his own sitting by the counter, “Oh, thank you.”

     He couldn’t help the awkward silence that followed. His processor raced with something to bring up but he could only sip at his cube awkwardly.

     Megatron spoke first, “Do you work today?”

     “Tonight yes.”

     “You should rest then.”

     Ratchet almost snarked out a response, but refrained for the potential mine it could become, “Soon I suppose.”

     A heavy silence filled the room and Ratchet drained down the cube and set it on the counter. Nothing to keep his servos busy had him rubbing against his own digits.

     “How was the hospital?”

     “It was fine,” Ratchet bit out far too quickly, a little softer he repeated himself, “It was fine.”

     “Is that younger Autobot still pursuing you for the Council initiative?”

     “No, he’s calmed down. Most of the office is under the impression I’m suffering mentally. Luckily, Cybertronian infrastructure isn’t developed enough to have referrals. Usually I have to determine if the patient is at risk and there’s only a handful of social assistants and alienists to refer them to.”

     “Why are you suffering mentally?”

     Ratchet’s optics flickered up to the harsh glare of the warbuild, who leaned in to study him.“To them, I lost a patient, remember?” Ratchet met his gaze, “Any stress you put on me can easily be explained away with that.”

     There was no response from Megatron. He merely flicked the edge of his cube and then grasped it to lift it up to his mouth.

     Ratchet shoved down the yearning to remember the events from a few nights ago, choosing instead to stretch dramatically up, “Do you mind cleaning up? I’m going to try and get some rest in my uncovered berth.”

      “Do you have any patients coming today?”

     “No,” Ratchet walked away, waving a bit as the door shut behind him. Try as he did not to, he tossed and turned on the berth. Too haunted by his own thoughts to really get any rest.

     Then again there could be a separate reason for his restlessness.

      Ratchet flung himself upright. It didn’t hurt to test the theory, did it? It wasn’t as if Megatron would agree.

     He opened the door to the living room to find Megatron sitting peacefully on the couch, looking wistfully on to Cybertron’s busy day.

     “Megatron,” he shouldn’t really hesitate now that he was in this farce, “Lend me your warmth.”

      The warbuild didn’t seem surprised by his request, only setting down his datapad and shambled up. Ratchet almost immediately meant to complain but Megatron towered over him, “After you.”

     He stepped back, doing his best to ignore the lumbering giant behind him. The berth felt naked- _he_ felt naked without the protection of the berthsheets to cover up what he was about to do.

     Ratchet did his best to ignore whatever Megatron was doing as he flopped onto the berth. He sank a little with the weight of the other mech on the berth.

     “Ratchet.”

     The medic turned, meaning only to look over his shoulder, and rolled into the divot of the other’s weight, “What?”

     He rolled too close for comfort but Megatron didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped his servos around the back of the medic, “Nothing.”

     Ratchet hated how at ease he felt, curled up into the sparkbeat of the warlord. Megatron spoke out a question, but he was already in the deep recess of a recharge cycle.


	12. Chapter 12

     Megatron left Ratchet once he was certain he wouldn’t stir. But he didn’t leave the feeling that lingered on his metal.

     Ratchet slept a little oddly, which is why at first- when he curled with his backplates facing him- his aft lingered a little too close to his panel. He hated that he almost pointed it out to him.

     Megatron’s desires were becoming less and less manageable. What would the Autobot do if he pushed him? Kill him? Good. If the best thing that could happen was death, there was no need to be subtle about it.

     But his own motives must be questioned. All he could think of while the medic lay sleeping in his servos was how much he wanted to consume him. To touch him. To feel the warmth of another’s spark especially that of the Primes. Truly, Ratchet was still entirely someone else’s bot. When Megatron thought about him, he thought about Optimus’ servos on him; his gentle kisses on the medic, the way his face would light up when Ratchet was near with that polite little smile.

     They would regret it, but Ratchet would regret it more and Megatron wanted that. He wanted him to regret every touch, every kiss, and possibly more. He wanted it like quickfire. He could survive a few centuries on the idea alone that Ratchet was spending his nights in his lofty place on Cybertron consumed with the memories of their time together.

     He was dancing around the subject in his processor, avoiding claiming outright to himself what he truly wanted. Was the Autobot doing the same? Is that why he asked for company? With how pragmatic and sassy the old medic was, it was impossible to know his intentions.

     But he highly doubted the medic would ever be found servo-around-spike crying out the name ‘Megatron’. Although, now that he thought about it, that might be one thing he should fantasize about with the medic out of the apartment.

     Megatron pulled out the datapad but it was a farce, to give him that look of pensive leadership when he was really daydreaming about what he wanted to do.

     A few hours later, a clatter interrupted his thoughts and Ratchet sleepily shuffled from the berthroom. Megatron lowered the data pad to see Ratchet wave slightly before shuffling out the front door.

     It was odd he wouldn’t go to work without drinking some energon first. Even in the mornings, he was very diligent about that. Then again, he was always rather quick to run from his shame. It felt as if they were sharing little infractions behind the back of a dead bot. First, with the kisses and now with their _cuddling_.

     Megatron swiped across the screen as he finally admitted it to himself. They cuddled like a couple of newly formed seekers. And try as he could to explain away the affection on account of Ratchet’s flirtatious nature. Ratchet was coming to the end of his party days before the war. He was starting to slip away from the nightlife to moonlight treason as a doctor wherever he was needed. After the war, there was no reason for him to cuddle the embodiment of everything he hated.

     Megatron lowered the data pad; his divided attentions were starting to force a charge through his system. He’d been rather indulgent lately, but there was no need to stop now.  

     Just as he heaved himself up, he heard the front door unlock and open.

     “Megatron?”

     He’d been expecting to see the pink bot again, but Ratchet was back looking just as tired as he left, a package in servo. The grey bot stepped towards him, as if in awe of the returning medic.”

     “What is that?” Megatron winced, he should have said hello or something.

     “Replacement sheets for what _you_ tore apart, is that alright with you?” Ratchet glared up at him, his chagrin at being accosted and barked at blatantly apparent. “Or would you rather sleep on a sheet-less berth?”

     Megatron allowed Ratchet to shuffle past before trailing behind him, “Why didn’t you get this earlier?”

     Ratchet ignored him, “Help me with this, I’m too short to do it alone.”

     “Don’t you have work today?”

     “No, and no patients either,” Ratchet spoke impassively. He lifted the sheet, untangling it from the folded neatness that this situation was so unlike. Ratchet tossed out a corner like a line, Megatron staring at him with the scrutiny he’d normally save for Starscream. The warbuild pinched an edge of the sheets, tugging it down with two digits as if it were vile.

     Ratchet ignored that as well. “I’ve got this end. Take the other.” The medic fluffed the sheet once, Megatron leaning from it. Ratchet leaned over the edge of the berth in a feeble attempt to accomplish too much. The plates of his back spread as he stretched, servos flattening what they could without tucking the edge over and under the mattress.

     Ratchet turned until only his stink-optic was showing, “Still willing to not be useless?”

     A heady vent left Megatron. As Ratchet resumed his pitiful reaching, Megatron fell into place behind the medic’s sprawled form. Clawed servos grasping the doctor’s hips, the former Decepticon lifted and slid the smaller mech across the berth surface. Megatron felt himself connect with the prone form, his pelvic armor nesting against the shape of Ratchet’s aft. The Autobot went predictably silent.

     Ratchet’s hands were still, fingers no longer stressing to fit everything in its place. Megatron let his pedes fall slightly apart, weight solidifying him in the space. Every move the doctor made, every miniature shift of his hips had Megatron daring to grip him closer, not further so he could do his task. To his credit, the good doctor did as he set out to, servos slowly tucking the sheet under the mat.

     The warlord began to squeeze the firm frame under-hand, thumbs spreading to widen his hold. Ratchet held his betraying ventilations as he felt the right hand wander from its perch. Warm charge circulated in his lower paneling as Megatron felt out the top of his interface panel. Ratchet gambled, twisting and looking behind himself to see the warmonger standing over his frame, servo more confident than what he could see of his faceplate. Megatron looked- in a word- uncertain; absent was the gladiatorial confidence he’d early on learned was so potent.

     Ratchet saw Megatron’s optics concentrate on his torso before flicking to him. When their optics met, he leaned down to press their faceplates together.

     They were kissing. All he could feel was the cool metal of his chest and the heat of his lips as Megatron pulled him against him. He turned to face Megatron, not wishing to be so wistfully played again.

     It was different. He wasn’t drunk or dizzy with nostalgia. There was no way to cover up the fact he was kissing Megatron. Especially with his persistent use of his teeth as they kissed.

     This time the warbuild pulled away. He made a new noise, new to Ratchet. He made a contented sigh and looked away. Ratchet’s spark twisted a little at the small smile hidden by turning away.

     “What?”

     Megatron made a soft rumble before looking down at Ratchet, “I realized why Orion was never fond of kissing me now.”

     Ratchet’s shoulderplating went up and he felt the claws the on his waist squeeze and one digit rubbed soft circles on his metal.

     “Op..Orion never really liked biting.”

     “Hmm,” Megatron turned his vivid red optics to capture him in them, “You don’t seem to mind.”

     “I don’t.”

     He released Ratchet’s waist and the medic felt those claws delicately scrape up his frame. Then felt them stroke under his faceplate. The touch was so gentle and contrasted with all of the medic’s memories of the warbuild.

     “Do you kiss everyone as if your life depended on it?”

     The medic turned those clear blue optics his way, “I’ve been giving lessons.”

     “Oh,” Megatron gave a cold familiar glare, “Will you teach her more than kissing?”

     “I don’t-“

     He interrupted the answer with another, less gentle kiss. Ratchet felt him claw his waist and in great strength, he was shoved back and Megatron covered him. He was trapped beneath the warlord and a flash of terror caused him to thrash.

     “Stop,” the words erupted from him as soon as their lips parted.

     Megatron braced himself on his servos, giving Ratchet some needed space. He appraised the medic carefully.

     “Your fear is something I instilled in you. I don’t expect you to unlearn it so quickly.”

     “Is that an apology?”

     No matter how bitter his tone, Ratchet’s unmistakable helm turn signaled his emotional turmoil.

     “Do you want to interface with me?” Megatron couldn’t imagine the medic answering that question truthfully. “I am not Optimus, but I knew him as intimately as you, is that why?”

     The medic kept his usual impassible glare.

     “Or perhaps this is the payment you expect from me?”

     “Don’t be crass,” Ratchet leaned up, trying to push Megatron away.

     “I want to frag you, Ratchet.”

     He had the medic’s full attention. They were dangerously close, close enough to share a kiss, close enough to sense each other’s armor. But Megatron just looked him optic to optic as he spoke softly to the medic.

     “When you and Orion had that strange relationship before the war, I wanted it. There was some part of me that wanted to claim your shining form as my own.”

     Ratchet vented, rolled his optics and flopped back down on the berth, refusing to betray anything but irritation at the words.

     “But Orion protected you then. He protected you during the war and when you were in my possession I let him draw up the range of atrocities I could afflict, denying none.”

     He brought up his peds, essentially fully crouching over the medic. Ratchet clutched at his knee plates, squeezing in alarm and turning to face him once more.

     “But that is why I want you now,” He watched the medic flinch as he carefully drew his claws over the chevron, “I wanted to die and it was the closest to the well of Allsparks as I’ve ever been. You denied me that chance with your self-centered honor and need to please a dead Prime. I want revenge.”

     The medic said nothing his silent stare masking any apprehension.

     “But I refuse to hurt you. I won’t be rough or callous. I’m not going to force you. If you say no or stop again I won’t touch you.”

     “No,” The word burst unexpectedly out, surprising Megatron, “I don’t care, keep touching me.”

     He wanted to reward the medic for his sudden honesty. But that would betray his deception.

     “Prove it.”

     Ratchet leaned up and pulled down on the back of Megatron’s helm. These dizzying desperate kisses were such a lively gift from the medic. He pulled away, roping his servos behind Megatron’s neck to support himself.

     Megatron took the opportunity and ran his servos behind the medic to the sensitive spot between his aft and pack. Ratchet arched to him as the sudden stimulation.

     “Do you want me to spike you like I did Optimus?” Megatron cooed to his audial fins, “I’m sure I can recall the sweet moans he used to make.”

     “Are you sure he wasn’t faking?” He quipped but a sweet shade of pleasure darkened his tone.

     Megatron dug in his claws, causing a new tremble to vibrate through the Autobot.

     “You probably didn’t do a lot of moaning as Prime stuffed your pretty little mouth with his thickness.” He punctuated the sentence with another raking claw against the sensitive back cabling. “How many lovers have you drown in trying to forget him.”

     Ratchet gripped his servos, “Are you jealous?”

     “Answer truthfully, I can’t possibly be the first to toss you in the sheets.”

     “Is this berth talk to you?” Ratchet shook his helm, “There’s been no one.”

     Megatron raised an optics ridge before relinquishing his trapped lover, allowing him to straighten and sit on the berth, “None, for a whole year.”

     “Probably longer, Optimus wasn’t very affectionate towards the end of the war. If I can calculate correctly it’s been….5 years?”

     “He didn’t touch you for three years?”

     Ratchet nodded, “There were dry spells before that too, with Optimus being on the front lines and me…well you ensured I was always out of harm’s way. Then there were humans around and Optimus never had much time for me. Then he was gone.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     Ratchet was so small compared to Megatron, aged yet full of life. The warbuild could yearn to know what he was like newly sparked, but it was a fool’s dream. No amount of machinery could turn the tides of time.

     “You’ve already said your apologies and had far less time with him than I did.” Ratchet fiddled with his own digits, turning them over in his servo.

     “Very true.” Megatron did his best to surface some happy memories through the scars of war. “Remember the time we were dodging Sentinel’s drones and we all had to hole up in your home?”

     “Yeah?”

     “Well, I got so jealous because of you I fragged Orion. The whole time the only thing he cared about was making sure you slept through the night. I did my best to make him moan, make any noise but he had never been quieter. It was a silent fight. Between us.”

     Ratchet clung to himself, “I’ve never had anyone but Optimus.”

     Megatron hulked over him again, “That’s such a turn on, you really are his medic.”

     “The only thing anyone ever wanted from me was something. No one ever wanted me. I wanted someone I could relate to. Someone who shared my pain.”

     Megatron wanted to ravage him more at that moment, “But you need someone to fill that emptiness. As far as one night stands, this shouldn’t be the worst you’ve had.”

     Ratchet leaned back against the berth and looked up at him, “I won’t say no.”

     Megatron smiled and braced a servo over Ratchet, “Glad to hear it, doctor.” 


End file.
